Prince
by katekale
Summary: Abandoned by his brother and the woman he loves, Damon has surendered to the dark. But when his wild lifestyle effects Fell's Church, Elena has no choice but to intervene...and finds herself once again caught between two brothers. Who will she choose?
1. Preface

It is ten minutes after midnight, and Damon Salvatore is bored. _This girl is too easy_, he thinks lazily, reclining back into the pale pink pillows on Jessica's bed. The girl in question lies beside him, recovering, her hand pressed tight against the twin puncture wounds on her neck. Her aura radiates shock, fear, adrenaline. _Delicious._

"Are you going to kill me?"

Jessica's voice is breathless. Chest heaving, heart fluttering like a bird trapped up against her ribcage, she looks up at Damon with scared-doe eyes that seriously don't inspire anything close to sympathy in him.

"Maybe. I haven't decided," Damon drawls, absently licking at the crimson blood - _Jessica's _blood - that has leaked into the spaces around his fingernails. He looks at her, considers her, cocks his head to the side. She is pretty, slender in a willow way. Pale blue eyes, long blonde hair. She is _almost _perfect - except…

_Except Elena's hair is lighter_, Damon finishes the thought automatically. The idea makes him cringe. He is out of bed and across the room in half a second, breathing hard, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes.

How could he be so mind-numbingly stupid? The whole point of this Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am thing with most of the eligible bachelorettes in town is to _forget _Elena, not to actively search for a replacement.

Disgusted with himself, he takes a few deep breaths before lifting his head from his hands.

Jessica is sitting up on the bed, watching him nervously with those not-as-pretty-as-Elena's eyes, fiddling with the loose strap of her camisole.

"Have you decided?" she asks meekly, dropping her eyes.

Damon is fed up. With himself, with Elena, with this _Jessica _(aka, Bachelorette number 27), with his life. With _everything._ And Jessica sits there, all wide-eyed innocence on her pink comforter, heart beating fast and scared - scared of _him_. He smiles devilishly. She is the perfect scapegoat for his frustrations.

"Yes," he answers her, moving forward, crawling onto her bed, denting the mattress with his knees. Despite her fears, she does not resist as he moves closer, does not flinch from his hand as he touches her supple cheek. Smart girl.

Jessica closes her eyes, falls back on the pillows, gives in to him as his fingers stroke down the pale white column that is her throat. He pauses at the wounds left by his teeth, presses down with the edge of a nail. Jessica whimpers. Damon smiles.

"Say goodnight, Princess," he whispers darkly.

He doesn't give her time to speak, doesn't give time for pleading or fighting or even one last whispered prayer.

He lowers his mouth to her creamy white neck.

Bites.

And drinks.


	2. 1 Beginning of the End

Disoriented but warm and very, _very_, happy, Elena wakes up slowly to a whispered "I love you" in her ear and the feel of cool lips on her forehead.

"Stefan," she mumbles, smiling into her pillow before rolling over and prying her eyes open. And there he is, _Stefan_, sitting up in bed next to her, legs tangled with hers and the sheets.

"Morning, Sunshine," he grins, exposing bright white teeth and the secret dimples in his cheeks. His eyes - leaf-green and sparkling in the light from the window - focus on hers, that sensuous upper lip curves just like she likes it, his hair is disorganized, tossed and tangled by her fingers last night.

…Last night…

Her stomach feels warmer at the very thought, and she curls into him, resting her chin on the bare skin between the hem of his boxers and the top of his knee. She loves this - waking up next to him, having this time together when they can just _be_. Stefan smiles at her, and she can feel the shape of his thoughts - he loves this too.

Elena yawns, stretching languidly, catlike, arching her back and nestling closer to the cool skin that she is so used to.

Stefan. Her love, the man (well, _vampire_) who she had - almost literally - gone through hell and back for. He is the reason she lives, the reason that her heart keeps up its frantic beating in her chest -

He kisses her now.

It's not hurried, either. Their lips move together, perfect tandem achieved from much experience, thousands of practice-kisses to achieve this perfection, this level of closeness. He tilts his head - _just so_ - her fingers inch into his hair -_now - _he pulls her up and closer to him, one arm around her waist, curved fingers a trap for her hipbone -

- And just as Elena is about to implode -

…Stefan's cell phone rings.

They both freeze. A million things run through Elena's mind at once: _that's Matt's ringtone. What if something's wrong? _And: _Oh God, what if there's news about Damon?_

Faces still inches apart, Elena and Stefan are ice sculptures as the phone rings again. And again.

"To hell with it," Stefan mutters against her lips, drawing in closer. Against her better judgment, she lets him, if only for a moment, lets his insistent hands work her into jelly under his touch -

…_Ring, ring, ring._

"Answer it," she commands in her Princess-of-Fell's-Church voice, pulling her lips from Stefan's with a slight pop. "It might be about you-know-who," she reasons, when Stefan looks none too happy.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't _care _about _Damon_ -" Elena's glare almost stops him from continuing, but not quite "- my damn _brother _can go walk off a _cliff_-"

Elena lunges forward, the pointer finger of one hand pressed against his lips, the other rooting around behind him on the bed. It takes her an instant, fingers outstretched, searching, and then her hand closes around the metal-and-glass iPhone. She allows the call through, thrusts it into Stefan's hand.

_You promised_, she mouths at his murderous glare.

There is a pause in which his face remains hard, uncompromising. But then he deflates, gives in, his wintry expression melting like a snowman in July, because he knows she is right. Once, she made him promise - made him _and _Damon promise - to watch out for each other. And if there is one thing the Salvatore brothers take seriously, it is a promise.

"Hi, Matt," Stefan says warmly into the phone.

Elena - trying not to be rude if the conversation is not for her ears - busies herself with getting ready for the day. By the time she has wandered out of the closet with an armful of clothes, Stefan is pacing.

_This cannot be good_, Elena thinks, skittishly scampering off to the bathroom to change. Stefan + Pacing = bad news.

She takes her time in the bathroom. Hair pulled back into a pony-tail, makeup perfected at least three times over, the edges of clothes tugged at until everything falls just right. She considers herself in the mirror for a moment, thinking.

Judging by the tone of Stefan's conversation with Matt, discretion seems to be a good idea for today, since it seems as though today will involve going out in public, going Damon-hunting. And _discreet _and _vampire love-bites_ don't tend to go very well together. Carefully, she dabs concealer over the already half-healed violet marks on her neck.

When Elena steps out of the bathroom, Stefan is already dressed, waiting for her. To an outside observer, he would look relaxed, casual, but Elena knows better - knows _him _better. She sees the tight tendons in his neck. She knows the clench of his jaw. She understands what it means when he taps his foot against the floor - not impatience, nerves.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Damon, of course," Stefan says darkly.

Elena sucks in a sharp breath, her fears confirmed. Without waiting for explanation, she grabs her purse from the bedside table, tucks her phone into her pocket, and is already an unstoppable whirlwind moving towards the door before Stefan has time to speak again.

"What are we dealing with?" Elena asks this briskly, still moving. It doesn't matter what kind of trouble Damon has managed to get himself into - a pack of angry vampires, a possessive spirit - she doesn't _care _how weak and human and vulnerable she is. She will _destroy _anything that touches him, tear any attacker limb from limb and muscle from bone if she has to -

Stefan grabs her arm.

"Elena," he says, his voice soft, pleading. "You don't understand -"

"What is there to understand, Stefan?!" she cuts him off sharply, her voice raising up and out of her control. "This is _Damon _we're talking about - I don't care if you hate him, he's still your _brother_. And if anything's hurting him we _have to save_ _him._"

Elena is panting, out of breath, but Stefan just shakes his head.

"He's not _in _trouble. He _is _the trouble."

"What do you mean?" Elena asks blankly.

Stefan sighs, pushing his hand back uncomfortably through his hair, trying very hard to look anywhere but her. He has the air of one explaining something difficult to a child. Elena's blood rushes to her cheeks in anger. _Tell me_, she thinks loudly, forcefully, trying to _make _him listen. _I'm not a little girl. I'm not weak. I can take it - whatever it is_.

_I…I know_, Stefan thinks back, his mental voice ringing inside her head.

"Damon's been…hunting," he says out loud, carefully laying down each word.

Finally, his head tilts up, eyes meeting hers. "Locally."

"Locally…? You don't mean…" Elena's mind races a hundred miles an hour - Damon wouldn't _dare _kill in Fell's Church, not after everything the town had been through, not after everything _they _had been through…. Would he? Just how well does she know Damon, really? She'd once said herself that Damon was the only boy she couldn't master, the only one she'd never truly understood…

Stefan nods.

"Matt told me," he starts quietly. "It's all over the news. Five girls are dead, Elena. All of them last night. All drained of blood."

Elena's blood seems to be replaced with ice water. She stands still in front of Stefan, mouth gaping, breath coming quicker as she tries to understand, because this _cannot _be true. He wouldn't - _he wouldn't - _Not in Elena's town, not girls from her school. Damon cares about her, he - he couldn't see her hurt -

_Maybe he's changed his mind_, a tiny, malicious voice whispers in the back of her head. _Maybe this is revenge. You chose Stefan, after all…_

Elena vaguely hears Stefan's far-off voice calling her name, understands with a clinical sort of detachment that she is fainting, passing out, knees wobbling under her -

Everything fades around the edges…

And then Elena knows no more.


	3. 2 Power

It is just after daybreak in the canopy layer of the Old Wood, and Damon - lounging comfortably in the top limb of an oak - reigns supreme. The heel of one soft-leather boot dangles over the edge of the bough, he holds his hands behind his head, relaxed, the picture of ease.

Everything in the forest obeys him, breathes him. The animals in the underbrush - scared off by his mere presence. The light summer breeze - created by his will. Power courses through him, electric even though he lies still, like the expectation of lightening before the storm begins.

Damon takes a deep breath through his nose, enjoying the outdoor smells - pine, fresh earth, the sweetness of decaying plants, a squirrel flouncing around in the next tree over. And -

And something is off.

Instantaneously, Damon springs into a hunter's crouch on the bough, knees bent, sharp eyes scouring the forest floor beneath him. The life-force he'd consumed last night propels him into action, radiating waves of power out into the surrounding space like a seismic shock. Probing the mind of every living creature in the surrounding half-mile takes him a millisecond. He finds exactly what he'd been expecting - _Elena_.

Damon flashes an incandescent smile at nothing in particular, dropping easily the twenty-five feet to the soft, rain-soaked ground. Easily, he finds Elena's bright mind again, glowing like a sun at the edge of his subconscious. She is exactly five hundred yards to his southeast, back towards town, making her way steadily through the old wood, making her way towards _him_.

Damon hardly bothers to note the darker, twilight aura shadowing Elena - dearest Stefan doesn't matter. Not anymore.

Stefan might have Elena. Stefan might have Elena's _blood_.

But Damon…

Damon is a black-velvet killer.

And no one - not even Stefan the goddamn Saint - can stop him.

Full of the blood of willing young maidens and five centuries worth of arrogance, Damon sprints silently through the underbrush. He is a hunter - sleek, keen grace, sharp teeth and wit, and that killer smile that could lure in any unfortunate human fly into his tangled web, he runs.

Runs towards Elena - _for _Elena.

He will have her yet, if she knows what's good for her.


	4. 3 Alone

"Stefan, are you _sure_ he's out here?" Elena asks doubtfully, picking her way through the brush and brambles of Old Wood, lifting her feet high like a doe so as not to trip over something. Behind her, Stefan walks quickly, sure-footed, the predator in their equation… Except that his hand is on her back, gently supportive, still nervous over her fainting spell earlier that morning, though she's told him a dozen times that she is fine.

"Yes, Elena, I've told you - he can shield his presence from me, but can you honestly think of anywhere else he'd be?"

"Another girl's bed," Elena mumbles under her breath. Stefan pretends as though he has not heard.

Half an hour later, school is about to start.

"You need to leave," Elena says casually, not looking at the dark-haired beauty beside her. She can feel Stefan's confusion without looking at him, anyway.

"What for?"

"School, silly," she reminds him, though of course he hasn't forgotten. "If the attacks are really starting up again, you have to be very _visible_." They stop dead, each obeying some physical cue from the other. Elena turns, and Stefan is leaning against the rough bark of an oak tree, leather-sheathed arms folded tight across his chest. He is an ice sculpture, frozen, unmovable.

"I am _not _going to school."

"Stefan," she murmurs, using that special coercive tone, looking up at him, making her eyes extra-wide and pleading.

He groans, tries to look away - "Elena, please don't" - but she is already advancing on him, her hand coming to a rest on the cool leather of his jacket, directly over his heart. She sees the moment of change in his eyes - sees the slight give, the bend, the break. And he is hers, just like that.

"Alright," he sighs, taking her hand in his, tugging, turning away towards where the trees get lighter - back towards town. Elena resists.

He says nothing, looking back over his shoulder at her. They stand in deadlock for exactly twenty two seconds without breaking the silence.

Finally - "You're not coming with me, are you?" he asks.

Elena shakes her head. "I need to see Damon."

Stefan's eyes squeeze shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer fingers. When he finally looks up again, his expression is remote, an unemotional mask that she is not used to. "Why?" he asks tonelessly, green eyes devoid of their usual spark, boring into hers like laser beams, making her squirm under his empty stare.

"I - what do you mean _why_? Because it's _Damon_, and I care about him," she says this quietly, her eyes on her gray converse sneakers slipping into the mud. "No matter what he does, no matter what his choice is, Stefan, please, I need to just -"

"Need to do _what_, Elena?" his voice, still distant, rings in her ears, and for once, she doesn't know what to say, how to fix the emptiness in his eyes. When it comes to Damon, she never knows the _what _or the _why_, only that she can't stay away from him. She can't -

"I can't give up on him," she whispers, pulling her jacket tighter around her. "I can't. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

"I don't," Stefan says, his expression morphing from that unemotional mask into something ugly - bitter and anguished. Elena isn't sure which one she prefers. "Damon is a _monster_. A killer. And don't think for one minute that he would have any qualms with doing the same to your best friends as he did to those girls last night. He's irredeemable, damned, you _can't _save him -"

"Then I'll die trying."

Elena holds Stefan with her eyes, watches something in his expression break.

"If you aren't back at the boarding house by nightfall, I will find you," Stefan says briskly. And then he is gone in a whirl of black leather and dark jeans. For a moment, Elena is paralyzed, immobile as a mannequin. She is unable to think, to breathe, to process what just happened.

_Me and Stefan just had our first _real_ fight_, she thinks as the reality sinks in_. Over Damon_. _God help me_.

Her breath catches around the lump that has formed in her throat, and Elena leans against the tree that Stefan so recently vacated, trying to slow her heartbeat, trying to keep the saltwater from spilling over the bottoms of her eyelids. She wraps her arms around herself and slides down to the damp earth, hands locked in front of her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

_Stefan_, she thinks_, I'm sorry_. And she is. So sorry - for this, for not letting Damon go though she shouldn't give a damn about him one way or another -

And then she feels it. A sudden wave of power washes through the woods, quieting the birdcalls, stilling the air. Nothing moves. Elena stops breathing. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, a natural warning, something that tells her to be afraid, to run -

But Elena isn't going anywhere.

She opens her eyes, tilts her head up.

Damon is directly in front of her. He is at the top of his game today - lounging grace and staggering perfection, perfectly in control of his surroundings, perfectly in control of _her_. Those black eyes capture her, hold her, examine her as if she is a bottle of perfectly aged wine that he is considering selecting for dinner.

"Damon_._" His name rushes out of her on a breath.

"Why, hello, Beautiful," he smirks devilishly, handsome features twisting just right - giving him that dangerously beautiful expression that he pulls off so well… "I was wondering how long it would take you to get rid of my brother."


	5. 4 The Woods

"What are you doing here, Elena, darling?" Damon asks casually, leaning against the tree opposite Elena, feigning indifference as she looks up at him from her position on the ground. Legs apart, lazily inspecting his perfect oval fingernails, he gives off that I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-you vibe. Even though he knows that she would never admit it, Elena likes him when he's standoffish.

"Me and Stefan -" she breaks off, looks down sheepishly "-well, I guess, _I _wanted to see you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

Damon spares Elena a glance out of the corner of his eye. She stares up at him, vulnerable and raw in her honesty. There is none of the _Elena Gilbert_, Queen-of-Fell's church authority in her voice, in her eyes. She is just a girl, just _Elena_. And for a moment, he is simply Damon. Hers in every sense imaginable. Power doesn't mean anything. Her blood doesn't mean anything.

Only Elena. Always Elena.

But then Damon clears his throat, and his mind, looks up and away from her, into the wild treetops of the Old Wood. No matter how vulnerable _her_ vulnerability makes him feel, he is still the hunter. Every inch of him screams it, from the sensitive gums around his canine teeth to the translucent skin that clings to every sinuous muscle.

"You want to know if it was me, I suppose," he states, arrogant again, fastidiously straightening the edges of his leather jacket, tugging at the very tips of his silky black hair.

Elena doesn't move, her eyes fixed on his. Lapis Lazuli blue and reflecting the gold light of the morning sun back to him. "Tell me they're wrong," she whispers, eyes boring into his like the stone they so resemble. "Tell me it's another vampire, Damon. Tell me _anything, _just tell me that you didn't -"

Damon cuts her off with a sharpness in his stare, a subtle straightening of his spine. Elena stands, slowly extending long legs from under her, the gold of her hair shimmering like the gold in her eyes. She is so beautiful. Something pokes at his chest, something hot and painful, and she takes a step closer, slipping through that chink in his armor. His soft spot for her is about ten miles wide.

"Please," Elena murmurs. She is up close and personal now, balanced on her tiptoes before him, eyes level with his. He sees the faint smattering of almost-summer freckles across her nose, counts each eyelash, memorizes the curve of her cheek.

She tilts her head into the light in a certain way, making her hair seem paler -

And last night rushes back into his brain, spoiling this moment of Elena's closeness, snapping the usual shield around himself back in place.

_Jessica_. Murder victim number one. She'd pissed him off, she with her paler-than-Elena's hair and those watery blue eyes. And so he'd killed her. Pressed her ivory body back into her bed, held his palm over her lipglossed mouth to silence the pathetic whimpering until it stopped, _stopped_, and she'd lain so cold and pale…

He'd still been thirsty.

In his mind, he recounts every instant of each death. The blood and the carnage, the girlish fear of those whom he had conquered, and conquered so _easily_, with just one wink and a flash of his pearly white teeth.

Five names: Jessica Maze, Lacey DeLante, Sam Collins, Liz Smith, Ali James.

All of them seventeen or eighteen years old, all Elena's former classmates.

Elena, all he's wanted, all he could possibly wish for. She would be perfect beside him, the Princess to his Prince, ruling the darkness, _together_, equals for once, she all in black satin and lace, soft against his unyielding skin…

He looks at the girl before him, at her snow-white t-shirt and worn jeans. Her eyes are terrified, yet somehow innocuous, like a scared, three-day-old kitten who has just opened its eyes. Just seen the world for the first time.

She is too good for him, he has always known that.

"It _was_ me, Elena," he says quietly, darkly.

Elena's eyes drop from his, going glassy with tears. _This is it_, he thinks, bracing himself. _I've finally overstepped my boundaries. She'll run from me_ -

And she _should_ run from him. She should turn tail back towards town and forget him, forget Damon Salvatore, the godforsaken, self-proclaimed Prince of Darkness. He is a killer, a monster, incapable of compassion. It is his nature. Unavoidable.

But…

Elena leans into him suddenly, all of her inconsequential weight on him. Heat from her skin leeches through her clothes and his clothes and into him like sunlight, and she clutches the backs of his shoulders for dear life. He can feel each half-moon shape of her fingernails pressed against him.

She buries her face in his neck, breathing heavy, hanging on tight, and he gets it. He understands - in this moment, in this terrible confirmation of what she feared, Elena has nothing to hold onto. Nothing, but him.

Saltwater leaks down his neck, staining the collar of his dark gray t-shirt.

_It's a crime_, he thinks_. I made the angel cry._

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. It is an impulse, he doesn't mean it. Killing is what he was made for, how he can survive - why should he apologize for taking what he needs?

Despite that, as Elena's silent tears turn into shaking, weak sobs, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer into him. And for a moment, he _is _sorry.

He hates her for that, for stealing away all his self-assured arrogance and power with a few tears and the slight weight of her soft body against his. Were she anyone else, he would kill her for this ridiculous display of human emotions, would have thrown her against a tree for having the nerve to touch him.

But it's Elena, _Elena, _touching him, spilling those emotions into him like a too-full glass of water, _Elena's _tears on his shirt.

He rubs her back, using those few resurrected human instincts he has: protect, comfort, _hold her_.

Elena doesn't protest when he scoops her up into his arms. She doesn't resist his iron grip as he carries her bride-style, vampire-speed, through the Old Wood, to the clearing just off the road where he'd stashed his car earlier.

Gently, he deposits her in the passenger seat, clicks her seatbelt locked.

Three seconds later, they have pulled out onto the main road, and are speeding towards the highway. He holds her trembling hand over the center divider, and as Fell's Church disappears in the rearview mirror, he squeezes her fingers tight.

He knows she doesn't want to, knows she can't resist.

Elena squeezes his hand back.


	6. 5 Left Behind

School is torture.

Fidgeting in his seat, Stefan glances at the clock. Seven minutes until dismissal. Seven minutes until he can escape this godforsaken prison and go after Elena, _find _Elena. Twitching anxiously again, he reaches for the skinny silver cell phone in his pocket, pulling it out with two fingers. He opens the display, keeping it hidden from Mrs. Coleman where she drones about nuclear fusion at the front of the room.

No messages. Not from Elena, not from Damon. The edges of the phone creak in protest against his too-tight grip.

Despite the fact that he has lived through more than five centuries, despite the fact that time passes quickly for his kind, seven minutes seems like an eternity, vaster than all the years that he's walked the earth. His foot taps of its own accord. Cold sweat breaks out in a sheer layer across his forehead. Fingers clench into a tight ball of nerves in his lap.

He should have ditched school at lunch. Should have bolted for the door the _instant _that the tiny seed of fear for Elena had planted itself in the bottom of his stomach.

But he hadn't. He'd been stupid, prideful. _If Elena wants Damon_, he'd thought bitterly, _then she can have him. And everything that comes with it. _

Now, though, Stefan's bitterness and spite has faded into this, a cold terror that has wrapped its iron fist around his heart like a vice. Elena would have called him if she was alright, wouldn't she?

Wouldn't she?

The dismissal bell rings. Stefan is out of his seat and out the door before the human children have even touched their backpacks.

Sprinting to his car, he tears his cell phone from his pocket again, his mind flying a thousand kilometers an hour before he has even hit the buttons for speed dial. He will call her. And Elena will answer, because surely she is safe, back home in the boarding house, propped up in their narrow bed. She is fine, she is fine, she probably didn't even find Damon anyways. _Elena is safe._

He convinces himself all of this as Elena's phone rings on the other end of the line. Elena is home. _Ring_. Elena is waiting for him, right now - _ring. _Damon wouldn't hurt Elena, he couldn't -_ ring_ - could he?

Elena isn't answering.

Stefan flips the phone shut, then open again, hardly noticing that he has somehow made it into his car and turned the ignition. He dials again, wrenching his fancy Italian sports car out of the parking space with a violence that would have surprised him, had he been tuned enough into his surroundings to care.

Three rings later, and he is freaking out, falling apart in the leather bucket seat of his car as he speeds towards Old Wood. Elena could be _anywhere_. Could be incapacitated on the forest floor, stalled by a sprained ankle. Could have fallen into the gorge that scars the deepest part of the Old Wood. And worse - could be with his brother.

The engine purrs as Stefan steps on the accelerator. The tinny ring of the cell phone in his ear stutters, breaks off, leads into a heavy sort of silence. Stefan listens with bated breath.

"Hello, brother," the deep voice on the other end says. Its more of a statement than a greeting, and the satisfaction behind the words makes Stefan's stomach clench into hopeless knots.

"Where. Is. She."

"Oh Stefan, there are three _billion _girls on this earth," Damon chuckles wryly, amused at his own joke, "how the hell am I supposed to know which one you -"

"Cut the bullshit, Damon," Stefan growls. "Where is _Elena_?"

"Whoa, whoa, lets just relax. Chill - do whatever it is the kids do nowadays. Elena is in very…capable hands, if you catch my drift." Damon's voice is condescending, arrogant, full of that devil-may-care attitude and smugness that makes Stefan very, very afraid. Nothing that ever makes Damon _smug_ can be a good thing.

"If you lay a finger on her -"

"I'll lay more than a _finger_, brother, just because you're a prude doesn't mean -"

"Damn it, Damon, I swear to god I'll -"

"You'll _what_, exactly?"

The silence following Damon's question is deafening. Stefan doesn't know what to say, because Damon has a point. What the hell _can _he do? He is alone, just Stefan, powerless against his older brother, just as he always has been. He doesn't know where Damon has taken Elena, has no way of tracking him. He is incapable, young, the little, ignorant boy that Damon always accuses him of being.

"Exactly, little brother," Damon says, a smile in his voice, correctly interpreting Stefan's silence. "There is nothing you can do. Just sit tight. Kick your feet up. I'll bring her back…when I'm done. Maybe. Actually, you know, don't count on it."

"_Damon_ -"

"See ya 'round, Saint Steffy. Try not to get an ulcer."

And then the line goes dead, leaving Stefan with nothing but a dial tone to use as a life preserver.


	7. 6 Taken

Shoving Elena's pretty little cell phone back into the pocket of his designer jeans, Damon swaggers back across the sun-baked gas station parking lot towards his car. The self-satisfied expression from his conversation with Stefan melts off his face like a snowman in July. Despite all his bravado and suggestive comments in front of his brother, Damon understands himself well. He knows that he couldn't take advantage of Elena. _Ever_. That worries him.

Back in the car, he re-adjusts his seat to his liking, turns the volume on the radio louder, just a hair. Glancing over at the passenger seat makes his stomach worryingly fluttery and warm. Damon Salvatore does _not _get all soft and gooey-eyed over a sleeping girl.

But she _is _pretty damn cute.

Hesitant, he reaches out with the tips of his fingers, brushing a few stray strands of golden hair from Elena's forehead. Her cheeks are warm and flushed under his fingers as he traces the contours of her face - she'd been crying all day, until about two hours ago, when she'd finally cried herself and fallen asleep.

Asleep. Elena. Alone with him - a _vampire, _no less - in an inescapable sports car. Silly Elena, sleeping in front of him, making herself vulnerable in a way that tempts his canine teeth and, though he would never admit it, tugs at his heart. Either she is incredibly stupid, or she actually…trusts him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Damon focuses on the present - and on Elena.

He skims his fingers lightly down her cheek, across her swan-like neck, lower, onto the cotton fabric of the t-shirt where it covers her shoulder. His fingers curve to the contour of her upper arm, squeeze.

"Elena," he mutters, feeling stupid, having never tried to wake anyone up before. He usually likes his girls better unconscious. Making things difficult for him, even subconsciously, Elena only shifts, letting out a little half-whimper that - god help him - makes his heart beat a little bit faster.

"Wake up, smell the bacon - or is it coffee?" Damon shakes his head at the stupid human sayings that have him tongue-tied.

Elena groans, batting at his hand lazily, like a sleeping kitten roused from its nap. Rolling his eyes, Damon tugs playfully - _playfully_? Since when is Damon _playful_? - on her gorgeous blonde tresses. "Get _up_, 'Lena, its like three in the afternoon, and I do believe you didn't eat breakfast, since your blood sugar is practically nothing, so wake your ass up and we can get some food for -"

"_What _did you just call me?" Elena asks groggily, sitting up straight in the passenger seat, practically running into him - he'd been leaning unconsciously into her. At the movement, Damon leaps back to his side of the car, hands studiously at eleven and five o'clock on the steering wheel. It takes him about five seconds to process what it is she's said, and by that point, she is blinking at him in a more alert fashion, apparently waiting for a response.

"Oh, right," he says, thinking fast, because he is pretty sure he just impulsively called Elena some lame-ass nickname like some pubescent boy with his first girlfriend. But because, for once, he doesn't know what to say, the silence extends past his words into one heaping ball of awkwardness between them. To fill it, he revs up the car and pulls back onto the road.

"Also," Elena adds, eyes on him, "can you really tell what my blood sugar level is? Just by the _scent_?" He chances a glance on him, and she looks fascinated, if a little queasy. When he doesn't answer, her fingers fly to her neck, fear crossing her beautiful features like lightening. "Unless, you tell by _taste_ -"

"Relax," Damon says sharply, a tad pissed off that she would jump to such conclusions. "I wouldn't - I mean, you were _asleep_, for Christ's sake. What do you take me for, anyways?" His voice is steadily rising, an edge of anger seeping into his tone for the first time all day. "Some sort of undignified, monstrous -"

"Well, considering your actions of late, you haven't given me many reason to think anything less," Elena murmurs, her quiet tone a disproval of Damon's almost-shouting by comparison.

"I'd never hurt you," Damon says, even softer, almost out of the range of Elena's hearing.

"Why should I believe that? You _killed _five girls last night, you kidnapped me, stole my cell phone. We are in the middle of _nowhere_ -" she gestures to the North Carolinian wetlands around the highway "- why should I trust you?"

"You already do trust me."

"No -"

"You fell asleep in front of me, Elena. That takes _a lot _of trust, even if I were just a human. But I'm a _vampire_. I could have killed you, and you wouldn't have had time to wake up." Elena is quiet, now, stunned into submission. "You trust me. Face it. Now where would you like to go to eat?"

"Doesn't matter," she almost whispers, looking out the window with a strange sort of expression marring her delicate features.

"Yes, it does. What's your favorite thing to eat?" It's strange to think, but besides every nuance of her personality, Damon doesn't know many of the statistics or superlatives of Elena Gilbert. Hell, he's not even quite sure when her birthday is. Or her favorite color. Does she listen to music?

It shouldn't matter to him, but it does. Elena is far more than a one-night-stand or a warm, blood-filled body to push around. What he wants from her is deeper than the veins just under her skin. He feels like, if he could be closer to her, if she would let him have her the way _Stefan's _had her, if he could just tap a single vein in that delicate neck, he could make her want him, could trace each vein back to her heart and worm his way under his skin, make her belong to him, make her…

But he doesn't want to _make _her do anything, does he? Force would spoil the idea, the sweetness of having her.

"I like Chinese food," Elena allows. "Egg rolls."

"Egg rolls it is." He turns the steering wheel generously to the right, towards the Chinese restaurant he'd noticed on the way to the gas station earlier. He smiles to himself at the convenience of having Elena's favorite so close on hand. Maybe the universe wants them together, after all.

The restaurant is full of dark corners, dragon-shaped objects, and those privacy-giving screens that separate rooms into different sections. Damon slips a ten to the waiter, and he and Elena end up seated at an intimate table for two in the far-left corner of the room, with a rather prestigious view of the restaurant's Koi pond. One of the bamboo screens separates he and Elena from the rest of the world, and he feels like they are apart from everything else, in some sort of magical bubble where nothing else matters.

They make small talk as Elena peruses the menu, and taking the fact that she is currently a victim of Damon's rather hospitable brand of kidnapping into consideration, the conversation isn't all that awkward. He finds out the answers to his earlier questions - blue is her favorite color, by the way - and determines that he _likes _this, likes spending time with Elena in a non-life-threatening situation. Her laugh is infectious. Her smile is brilliant. When she listens to him, the world narrows down to just her Lapis Lazuli eyes, making him feel like the most important thing in her universe.

Elena orders sesame chicken and fried rice, with a vegetable egg roll on the side. She raises her eyebrows when he orders the same.

"I _can _eat, you know," Damon says under his breath once the waiter has scampered off to the kitchen. "Didn't Saint Stefan tell you that?"

Nose wrinkling at the nickname, Elena nods. "Yeah, but I just never thought of you as one to act human. At _all_. Ever."

Shrugging it off, he chuckles lowly, taking a sip of his wine, noting the way Elena's eyes cling to his lips like chapstick. "Well, I have to try this Elena-approved delicacy known as _egg rolls_, don't I?"

Blood rushes to Elena's cheeks in a faint, pleased blush. For once, the extra blood doesn't make him want to bite. In fact, he'd like nothing better to kiss her, right now, in this dark corner of some anonymous restaurant, with her still blushing over his words and getting dizzy off the wine he'd tricked the bartender into giving her. Damon leans in, ever so slowly, and Elena's eyes focus softly on his. He can see that she is slightly fuzzy around the edges, even after just a glass and a half of alcohol. He can see how easy it would be to pull closer to her. She wouldn't put up a fight, not even as his lips claimed hers and his fingers sunk into that long blonde hair -

Their waiter bustles along with a serving tray and an air of reality, and the spell is broken. Elena blinks and leans back into her seat, looking surprised at herself. Damon's fingers clench into fists under the table, angry at himself. He wanted to _kiss _Elena? Vampires. Do not. Kiss. Not for pleasure, at least.

But the idea of kissing Elena makes his head spin.

He puts it out of his mind as the waiter sets the human food in front of him. It is a pile of steaming, spicy-smelling chicken doused generously in a sauce that makes his teeth feel sticky just by looking at it. The rice is brown, and doesn't appear to have been _fried_, so the confusing name still does not make any sense to him. He picks up his fork, doubtfully poking at the pieces of chicken carcass and vegetable matter.

When he looks up, Elena is laughing at him.

"What?" he asks tiredly, not sure if he wants to know what it is he has done to be ridiculed.

"You look so confused," Elena giggles - _giggles_, like the innocent school girl that he knows she still is. Damon bites his lip to hold back a smile - he's glad that they seem to have left behind the crying/distrust from that morning.

"I am confused."

"When was the last time that you -" she drops her voice conspiratorially, glancing around them before continuing, "That you, well, you know…ate?"

"The sixteen hundreds," he admits in a whisper. "Onion soup." He shudders. "Turns out I don't like onions."

Elena laughs again, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of chicken off his plate. "You'll like this, I promise," she smiles, her eyes wide and inviting, lifting the fork almost lazily. "No onions."

Damon raises one dark eyebrow, glancing at Elena, then the chicken, then back again. _This isn't happening_, a little voice in his head insists, that being the only logical explanation for Elena forking his chicken and looking as though she wants to feed him his first solid food in four centuries.

Somehow, though, her hand and his mouth work in tandem, his lips close over the pungent chicken, and Elena is pulling the fork back again, her eyes still locked with his. He hardly tastes the food as he chews and swallows, he is so distracted by her.

Part of his brain processes how ridiculous this is. Not eight hours ago, he and Elena and Stefan were hunting him through the Old Wood, planning God only knew what. And now…now he and Elena have somehow tricked themselves into believing that only they exist, and she is feeding him spicy-sweet chicken and getting just a little bit tipsy on wine he bought for her.

He knows that Fell's Church will have to start existing again at some point in the future, and he will have to deal with five dead girls, the disgust of Elena's friends, and Stefan. But for now, nothing matters.

Only Elena and her jewel-bright eyes, and the fact that she gave him half of her egg roll when he finished his and still wanted more. They are together, however tenuous the moment is. Even if she'll run back to Stefan when this is all over.

After dinner comes dessert - vanilla and green tea Mochi ice cream, which ends up being golf ball sized, frozen finger-food, and something he likes very much. He buys an extra carton to go, and on the way out of the restaurant, he lets Elena take his arm while he uses the other hand to wolf down the ice cream, feeling very human and vulnerable as the cold gives him something Elena calls 'brain freeze' when he describes it to her.

"Where to next?" Elena asks, smiling gently up at him, like this is a honeymoon or vacation, like he didn't steal her away against her will just that morning.

"Mmm," Damon hums, licking his fingers. "Hotel, I suppose. There's a respectable Hilton half an hour down the road. I'm a preferred customer." He flashes her an incandescent smile. "Penthouse, of course."

"Sounds good."

The walk to the car is made in silence, as is the drive to the hotel, broken only by Damon's phone call to inquire as to availability of rooms. As they draw closer to their destination, a heavy sort of anticipation settles over the car, stealing the breath from his lungs. Every tiny movement Elena makes is electric, sending shockwaves through their joined hands.

He has never felt like this before. Never. He wonders fleetingly if this is what it's like for Stefan - if every moment with her is this intense, this sparkling-new with excitement and fireworks.

Bitter at the reminder that Elena isn't his, not _really_, Damon turns the thinking part of his brain off, excepting the section he uses for Elena-processing activities.

Because Stefan doesn't _matter_. Damon is with Elena now, sitting in this car with her, holding her hand, headed to a plush hotel room after a romantic dinner for two.

Damon smiles brilliantly to himself, squeezing Elena's fingers with one hand and turning up the radio with the other.

"You know, for being kidnapped and all, I'm having a great time," Elena finally breaks the heavy silence, tapping her toes to the beat of the music, running the pad of her thumb across the back of his knuckles.

"Me too, Elena," he says, honestly. "Me too."


	8. 7 Lights

When they reach Charlotte, Damon almost has to stop driving.

The city lights make Elena effervescent, outgoing, and very distracting, even to him, who had learned to drive back when the Model T Ford was the only thing on the market. Every few seconds or so, Elena exclaims over something new and seemingly riveting to her: a hotdog vendor, a marble fountain in the middle of a plaza, business men of various shapes and sizes. Apparently, he'd miscalculated exactly how much wine would get her just slightly tipsy, and accidentally ended up with an almost-drunk young girl in the front seat of his Ferrari.

Damon rolls his eyes at himself. The one time he wants a girl at full-focus, of _course _he messed it up. He always messes it up.

Despite his disappointment at the loss of the usual Elena, he is excited by a new and very intriguing discovery: Elena is a fun drunk. Actually, make that _flirty _drunk. _No wonder she was all over me at the restaurant_, Damon thinks, trying hard not to tremble as Elena draws lazy patterns up and down his arm with her fingernail.

Keeping his eyes on the road is a study in self-control, something that Damon has never quite grasped. It is a hard task, passively letting Elena touch him without _doing _something about it, but he manages, chanting over and over in his head _- wait for the hotel. Just a few more minutes._ Despite his promise to himself not to take advantage of her, he figures that if Elena keeps up her eyelash-batting and physical contact, then she is practically begging to be taken advantage of, so technically, no moral court could hold him responsible.

At the Hilton, the world is theirs. Well, maybe not the world, but a fleet of stringy young valets and bellhops just waiting to serve. Damon steps out of the car swiftly, glaring daggers at the teenager in uniform who is about to open Elena's door for her. The kid backs off, and then Damon is opening the door for Elena, helping her out, and she is leaning into his side like she belongs there, for all the world to see.

Handing out ironical smiles to the valets like candy, Damon tosses his keys into the general group, hearing a few lines of exclamation and argument as they decided which one of them would have the honor of driving his gorgeous car.

"Ready for bed, my dear?" Damon murmurs suggestively against the shell of Elena's ear.

"Not tired yet. It's only six."

"Who said anything about _sleep_?"

Snapping out of her fuzzy haze for a moment, Elena narrows her eyes sharply at him. _Okay_, he decides_, not drunk enough for that yet._ Holding his hands up in surrender makes Elena smile and giggle quietly, and she lets him place his palm on her lower back as they make their way across the granite-and-cherry-wood lobby to the service desk.

Once they are all checked in and Damon has tucked room keys in their back pockets (which involved some undisguised fondling oh his part and much giggling and hand-swatting on Elena's), they are ready to go. Damon tugs on Elena's hand and whisks her out the revolving door, holding her close for a moment in the enclosed bubble of glass. Her hand stays in his, even outside the hotel, on the Charlotte city street.

"Where're we going?"

"Dancing," Damon answers, not trying to hide the lust in his eyes as he looks down at her. She just smiles playfully up at him, reminding him that this isn't her, that she's just a little bit out of her own control. _Kiss her now, while she's vulnerable_, part of him whispers.

Hair bright gold under the streetlights, eyes shimmering with excitement, Elena looks up at him, lips slightly parted, just begging to be claimed.

Responsible for once, the good brother, Damon turns away from her flirtatious smiles and gorgeous eyes. In his peripheral vision, he notes with some satisfaction that Elena-the-angel looks somewhat disappointed. Like _she _wanted to kiss _him_.

Shaking off the heart-pounding idea, Damon leads her down the sidewalk, away from the towering Hilton hotel, towards the sparkling, noisy heart of the city's nightlife. He flashes a smile at Elena, who's suddenly looking a tad skittish and nervous, despite all her newfound, drunken confidence.

"I can't dance," she confides, talking in a normal tone though she attempts to whisper in his ear.

"Don't worry," Damon chuckles, letting go of her hand, only to wrap his arm securely around her waist, pulling her warm curves up against the ice-cold hardness of his body. "_I _do."

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for all the fantastic reviews! I'm so new to the site that I haven't figured out how to reply to them, but I read and enjoy every single one of them - they certainly make the story come out faster! Another chapter should be up this afternoon, tonight by the latest… Or maybe I'll finish it in half an hour. J Hope you like it! Continue reviewing, pretty please!

Cheers, Sammy 3


	9. 8 Kiss Kiss

They danced for six hours. Though he wanted time to slow down and let him absorb all the new feelings rushing through him, time moved fast for Damon.

One minute, they were in a black light nightclub, and he was buying Elena ginger ale even though she asked for something alcoholic. Her system was slowly but steadily coming down from the high, but she still clung to him like a formfitting leather jacket, every inch of her touching every inch of him in a way that made him pour tequila down his throat like lemonade.

And the next minute… Damon is the tipsy one, having to be led back to the hotel by the hand like a child. But he certainly doesn't _feel _childish, because his eyes are glued to the way Elena's hips sway when she walks, and he is overheating in his jacket.

Elena notices his staring, but gets the wrong idea. "What's _that _look for?" she asks, her innocent-seeming eyes locking onto his hungry ones. Jokingly, she tilts her head to the side, so he can see the pale expanse of her neck, smell the sticky-sweetness of the alcohol still running in her blood. "Want a taste?"

"Not of your _blood_," Damon says quietly, shaking his head, looking at the pavement that seems to have suddenly decided to spin under him, making him unsteady on his feet. Elena stops in the middle of the empty sidewalk, and the sudden halt makes him stagger closer to her. Those pale, perfect arms of hers wrap around him, surprisingly strong, steadying.

"Then what do you want from me?"

He'd thought she was drunk before. Maybe he'd been wrong, because there is hardly a trace of fuzziness in Elena now. She stands before him, eyes intense, razor-edged, cutting into him like icicles.

A million answers run through his head, surprisingly _human _answers that take him off guard. _I want to know what flavor chapstick you use. I want to see if you're as sweet everywhere as you smell. I want your damn heart, I want you to see me as something more, something serious, better than Stefan. I want you, I want you, I want…_

"Everything," he says out loud.

They both freeze, each of them equally as surprised by his words as they are by his tone. He is serious, now, all joking and flirty touching and hand-holding aside. Fear of her response mixes with the anticipation and tequila in his stomach, turning his insides into something with the consistency of a Jello shot.

Elena recovers from his outburst first, sinking into him, arms tightening around his waist, her face pressed carefully into his jacket, as though she is afraid that being too rough would break them. She sighs, her warm breath fluttering across the sensitive skin on his neck.

"I don't know how much I can give you," she whispers.

"'s okay," Damon murmurs, rubbing her back in slow, calming circles. And at this moment, it _is _okay. Surely it is enough to hold her like this, surely this embrace can tide him over until the end of time. His memory of this instant will reach far past Elena's meager lifespan, and the day that she dies, when he has to see her sleep for the last time, he'll still remember, still remember how it feels, right now, when she is so alive and fragile in his arms. Heartbeat and breathing synching up to hers, Damon holds on even tighter, lowering his head to her tiny shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of her neck.

Even though most of his brain is working to absorb everything like a sponge, part of him realizes how tenuous and transitory Elena is. Right now, in this moment, she might mean everything to him, might be the air he breathes and his very own heartbeat, but what does that _matter_? Elena will die. Like his parents, like Katherine, like every other human he's ever known. And he will be alone again, just he and Stefan avoiding each other, forever, with no Elena to fight over. He is quite positive that he'll never love another after her.

Wait…_love_?

"Damon?" Elena's voice is hesitant, trembling.

He doesn't answer, pulling her closer. His throat burns, but not in the usual way, and he suddenly feels like he is choking up something sharp and unpleasant. Breath catching, he threads the fingers of one hand into her golden tresses, needing more contact, needing more _her_…

"Damon," Elena says again, this time gently, a breathy sort of whisper that makes him pull his face away from her neck for a moment, the want to see her face getting the best of him.

Her expression is strange, a combination of wonder and pain. Her mouth lifts up into a half-smile, but her eyes are sad as they meet his, and she reaches out a hand towards him, as though she wants to touch his cheek. She resists, pulling her hand away at the last minute.

"What were you just thinking about?" Elena asks softly, her eyes roving over his face like she expects to find the answers she wants written across his skin.

At her words, he looks down again, away from her painful brilliance, trying not to let his mind go back to those dark places. "It doesn't matter," he whispers hoarsely, feeling choked. He doesn't _want _Elena to die. Ever. Tightening his arms around her waist, he holds on, like maybe, if he can be close enough, if he can love her enough, she'll stay here, with him. Just a little bit longer… One measly human lifetime could never be enough -

"It _does _matter," Elena insists.

"Why?" His voice comes out wrong, bitter, petulant. He doesn't want to think about the future anymore. He doesn't want to think _at all_. His brain is still fuzzy and sluggish from the alcohol, and all he really wants to do is go back to the hotel and sleep, wrap Elena up in his arms and stay there forever. Talking is ruining the pathetically small amount of time he has left of her.

"Because of _this_," Elena starts, lifting her hand to his face again, this time touching his skin, the tip of her pointer finger running from the apple of his cheek down to his jaw. She pulls away, and her fingertip glitters mysteriously in the light, wet with something - wet with _what_? Confused, Damon lifts his own hand to his cheek, drawing away with water on his fingers, too. He glances up towards the dark, midnight sky, wondering how it started raining without his noticing. But the sky is clear, cloudless, strewn with stars and aircraft.

"What…?" he starts, not comprehending.

Elena's eyes are glassy, but her smile is about ten miles wide. "You're _crying_, Damon," she explains happily, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she launches herself at him again, arms around his neck, giggling even as her laughter breaks on sobs.

"No, _you're _crying! What did I say -"

"They're happy tears," she smiles, pulling back momentarily and staring up at him like she's never seen him before.

"What? I don't -" Damon breaks off, too stunned and confused to even _ask _why someone would _ever _produce something called 'happy tears'. "Why are you so happy? Why are you _looking at me like that_?!"

"Oh, Damon," is all Elena says, pulling a tissue from thin air (seriously, where does she _keep _this stuff?) and drying the water - he _refuses _to believe they're tears - off his face, still smiling her infectious smile.

His black mood obliterated in the light that is Elena's happiness, Damon lets himself be led down the rest of the sidewalk to the hotel, across the lobby, and into an empty elevator. The tiny space is mirrored on three walls, probably to make the elevator seem less claustrophobic, but it is good for another thing, too. Damon can see himself and Elena from every angle, see the effortless trust of their joined hands, the way she leans so casually into his side.

Elena nudges his ribs with her elbow, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"I didn't know vampires could cry."

"Maybe they can't. I never have."

"You just did!"

"Nope."

They glare at each other for several long moments, Damon using his best vampire expression to make her give in to him. But of course, she has Saint Stefan's vervain necklace to protect her. Damon rolls his eyes, giving in, and Elena smiles smugly.

"Alright," he allows, advancing on her, pressing her against a mirrored wall with one hand on each side of her tiny waist. "But if you _ever _tell _anyone _anything about what just went down, I swear to God, I'll -"

"You'll what?" Elena smirks devilishly, an expression he didn't know she could pull off. "Drown me in your tears?"

"Oh, now you're gonna get it," Damon growls playfully.

"Am I?"

"Most definitely."

In one lightening-fast movement, he has her, one arm wrapped around her upper body, pinning her to him, her back against his chest. His other arm is lower, wrist braced against her hip, his fingers tracing across her stomach in feather-light strokes that make her muscles tense up under his fingertips.

"I am the Tickle Monster," he says, hoping he has the name right. "Fear me." Elena squeals and giggles, writhing in his arms, trying to kick him in the shins.

"No - _fair_, Damon!" She gasps in between fits of hysterics. Damon only laughs, refusing to let up, his fingers dancing even higher, almost to the bottom edge of her bra, enjoying this far more than he should for its being an innocent child's game. But the way she gasps his name coaxes long-dormant human reactions to life deep inside him.

"This is _more _than fair," he says, but the instant the elevator doors open on their floor, he lets her go. She is off and running down the hall, not caring that it is after midnight and she is as noisy as any out-of-control child. Damon rolls his eyes at her silly attempt to escape, counting five slow seconds off in his head to give her a head start.

Vampire speed, he flies down the corridor, passing her as a dark blur of wind that she probably doesn't even notice. By the time she reaches the hotel room, he is leaning against the door already, calm and collected, grinning at her disheveled, out of breath appearance.

"Ladies first," he says, taking advantage of her stunned moment to reach behind her, pulling the room key from her back pocket, inserting it into the door handle. At the soft beep, he pushes the door open, gesturing for her to proceed him.

Raising her eyebrows suspiciously, Elena walks cautiously past him, eyes following his every move. Before she has time to blink, Damon has the hotel door shut and deadlocked, and is on her again, pressing her up against the wall, tickling her mercilessly. His arms are a cage, locking her in, and she squirms and shudders against him, half-laughing, half-yelling at him to stop.

But Damon _doesn't_ stop. Swiftly, he gathers her up, and in her fear of finding her feet off the ground, she wraps her legs around his waist. They are both laughing when his momentum carries them to the king-sized bed, rolling around on the comforter, each struggling for control over the other. Her fingers brush across his abs - "_Damn it_, Elena, just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I'm not -" his laughter rings back to them through the empty suite "-_ticklish_ -"

He is on his back, Elena straddling his waist, a knee on each side of him, and their laughter abruptly dies out, echoes reverberating off the walls like phantoms. Suddenly, everything is serious, and Damon feels wide awake and very, very sober. Her intimate position over him is like a bucket of ice water, shocking him to the core.

Quickly, before she has time to move or change her mind on how she feels about tonight, about _him_, Damon sits up. Silently, she slips from her position over his abs and into his lap, legs still around him. The old denim of her jeans does nothing to protect him from the heat of her body, from the feel of her heartbeat, from the floral scent of the lotion she uses.

"Damon," she whispers, his name like a prayer, "I - I can't -"

"Yes," he interrupts, eyes blazing, his entire being on fire for her, for this tiny moment where it feels like they could actually _have _something together, "you _can_."

The moment pauses, suspends in front of him for what seems like an eternity, as Elena's eyes bore into his, full of confusion, fear, anticipation, and something that looks a _lot _like lust. He sees the teeter-totter in her eyes: _Stefan, Damon, Stefan, Damon_, and sees the moment where bending to his will becomes a breaking. She is his, all his, her resistance shattering into a million tiny pieces in the face of_ this_, this animal attraction between the two of them, this dangerous chemistry, the irresistible draw that is not just the bloodlust or the aching _want _he feels for her. There's affection, _love_, even, a mutual respect, kinship. They are alike, Elena and him, more alike than she would probably ever admit to.

"Elena," he breathes.

"Kiss me," she whispers. "Before I change my mind."

He stares at her. The angles of her face are made sharper in the semi-darkness of their hotel room. She looks fierce, brutally honest, like she wants him as much as he wants her. For now, at least.

A savage, feline growl rips through Damon's throat, and he pushes her back onto the bed, pinning her down. "_Not _if you'll just run back to my brother tomorrow," he says firmly, glaring down at her, his eyes razor sharp and biting. "I will _not _be played with, Elena."

Elena pauses, and something worrying seems to _click_ in her expression. "Like _you're _not playing with _me_?"

"What?"

"This whole stealing-me thing has just been to punish Stefan, right?" Her eyes are misty, now, upset, a complete turnaround from just moments before. She'd asked him to kiss her… Had he lost his chance in one stupid outburst of imperious pride?

"This has _nothing _to do with Stefan," Damon snarls.

"Of course it does," Elena says, staring off at a point in the distance, hardly seeming to feel him over her, or listen to his ragged breathing. "I should have seen it. You were _nice _to me, you were sweet and charming and I almost -" she cuts off suddenly, and even in the dark he can see how the rise and fall of her chest stutters as her breath catches, "I _believed _you -"

"Elena," he says sharply, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, "listen to me -"

She shakes her head, slapping his hand aside. Slowly, she inches out from under him, and he lets her. Leaning against the headboard with her arms around her knees, she wipes her tears on the sleeve of her shirt, not wanting him to see her cry. "I thought you'd changed," she whispers.

"I have, Elena, please -"

"Don't '_Elena, please_' me," she says sharply, cutting him off with a harsh glare, even through her tears. "If you want to fight with your brother then just _do it_, but leave me out of it! I don't _want _to feel this way about you, Damon, and it's hard enough to deal with without you manipulating me -"

"I'm _not _messing with you!" Damon yells in frustration. The volume of his words stuns them both for a moment, and Elena curls tighter into herself. "Shit," Damon mutters under his breath. _Now I've really done it_.

How did this happen? One moment they were all happy-go-lucky and fancy-free, and the next…this. God, their relationship is even more turbulent than a teenage girl on her period. Sighing, Damon rubs the palms of his hands over his face, trying to smooth away the lines of anxiety and go back to where they were before he had to open his damn mouth and mention Saint Stefan.

"Look, Elena," he starts, crawling up the bed to sit beside her, ignoring her flinch when he wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Today was _real_ for me. Everything I said…everything I felt was serious. I want you. I've always wanted you."

She looks up at him, her expression hopeful, but after a moment, she looks away, sliding off the bed and leaning up against the opposite wall, her back facing him, staring out the window at the Charlotte skyline. "Me too," she murmurs, almost to quiet for a human to hear. "But I never know with you," she starts, turning back to look at him with a tortured expression, "whether I feel the way _I _want to or if I feel the way _you _want me to."

"For Christ's sake, Elena," Damon groans, springing from the bed and launching himself in front of her. Angrily, he flicks the silver chain of her necklace, glaring at the vervain-filled pendant that dangles heavily around her neck. "I can't influence you. Or have you forgotten?"

"No," she says, backing away a few inches. "I know you can't. But sometimes you look at me and I…" She trails off into silence, leaving nothing to fill the room but the beating of their hearts and her rapid breathing.

"And you _what_, Elena?" Damon asks, taking a step closer, his eyes boring into hers relentlessly. She tries to take another step back, but her legs hit the edge of the bed. She is trapped. And she knows it.

"…Doesn't matter," she squeaks pitifully.

"Oh yes, it really does."

He tilts up her chin with one finger so she is forced to look at him, and her eyes go wide with some combination of emotions that run too deep for him to properly understand. "I…It just feels like…"

When she doesn't continue, he runs the finger on her chin back across her jaw, down her neck, stopping at the necklace at the hallow of her throat…

"Like I'd do anything you want," she finally gets out, the words spilling from her in an involuntary way, rushed and jumbled together. "Like I'd forget - forget about Stefan and everything you've done. Like its just me and you, and I'm the most important thing in the world, like you love -"

Damon can't help himself. Every new emotion he's felt in this whirlwind of a day come crashing down on him, drowning him, pulling him under until he can hardly breathe. Elena. Elena's voice, echoing everything that has been running through his head all day. She feels the way he does, and she has all this time. She might not understand, but Damon _knows_. Elena Gilbert loves him back. Him, Damon Salvatore, irredeemable monster that he is. The angel _loves _him. Perhaps there is hope for him yet.

He really can't stop it. And he doesn't _want _to. He cuts Elena's words short; not with a glare, like usual, not with a hand over her mouth, not with his Power.

Damon kisses her.

It is better than the thousand times he's imagined it. Her mouth is soft and warm and yielding against his, and every sane thought is obliterated from his mind: the fact that he has zero experience with kissing for pleasure, the fact that she _does_, the idea that he is _kissing ELENA GILBERT_ - none of it matters anymore. His mind is a blank, filled only with her strawberry lip-gloss and the warmth of her skin on his.

Miracles of miracles, she kisses him back. Her hands grip his hair, pulling him down to her, and the tip of her tongue traces his bottom lip until his lips part, and then she is kissing him deeper, claiming him in a way he has never been claimed before. He is almost at the point of blacking out, and all she's done is _kiss _him. It is ridiculous, but he doesn't care.

She falls backwards on the bed and tugs him with her, both of them giggling for a moment before their lips find each other's again, cutting their laughter short. He whispers her name when they separate for air, and she murmurs his back as she stares up at him, kissing with her eyes open, seeming like she wants to memorize the depths of his black irises

It is over too fast, their furious tongue-tangling slowing into chaste kisses that spark every neuron in his brain like nothing else he has ever experienced. He rolls them over so she is lying half across his chest, her heart over his heart, both beating together like the pulse of something very young and small, fast like two hummingbirds flying in tandem. She feels even tinier in his arms then she ever did before - small and willowy and feminine, something to be held, protected.

"I love you," Damon says suddenly, the words tumbling out before his brain found a chance to spell-check them. Elena just sighs, holding him tighter, and kisses his neck softly, once.

"I know."


	10. 9 Morning

With the morning comes a clear head, strong black coffee, and a feeling of supreme satisfaction. Damon lounges across the king sized bed that he and Elena had shared the night before, sipping slowly from the thin paper Starbucks cup and balancing Elena's cell phone on his flat stomach. Lazily, he weighs the options in his head - _to call or not to call_? Stefan's number is already dialed in. All he has to do is press send.

Groaning over the idea of thinking hard enough to make an actual decision, he rolls over, sending the cell phone to the mattress, lifting his head up in the direction of the bathroom.

"Elena, should I call Stefan?"

"Sure," she says, her unconcerned voice filtering through the bathroom door. "Tell him I'm not dead."

"Right-o," Damon chuckles, letting the call through and lifting the phone to his ear. Stefan answers before the first ring is over. Pathetic. Does he honestly have nothing better do than wait by the phone?

"Helloooo, brother," Damon drawls, his smile widening, enthusiastic about the game that is about to commence - Stefan-teasing. It happens to be his favorite pastime. "How may I be of service?"

"Bring Elena home," Stefan growls, obviously not in the same blissfully untroubled mood as Damon. At this, Damon smirks. Again.

"You know, I think I might just keep her. Maybe forever. I haven't decided yet. She's actually quite amusing, for a human. I'm starting to get why you like her so much." Elena takes this perfectly timed opportunity to walk out of the bathroom, brushing out her hair. Smiling at Damon, she wanders over to the desk, taking a sip the coffee he bought her.

"Damon, I _will _find you," Stefan says on the other end of the phone. Damon rolls his eyes.

"Stefan, we both know that isn't true. Besides, Elena is perfectly fine. She has all her limbs intact and isn't missing one _ounce _of her precious blood, so don't get your panties in a bunch."

"Let me talk to -"

Damon hardly cares enough to listen to the rest of his brother's words, holding the phone out silently to Elena. Her hand brushes his more than necessary as she takes her phone from him, and she throws a wink back over her shoulder as she wanders back into the bathroom with the phone pressed to her ear, shutting the door behind her.

Flopping back onto the bed and taking another gulp of his coffee, Damon appreciates the warmth in his stomach (a product of both Elena's affection and his piping hot drink), and tries hard not to think about the reasons for Elena's taking her conversation with Stefan behind closed doors. Really, it isn't his business what they talk about, anyways.

Two minutes, three and a half seconds later - not that he's counting or anything - Elena emerges from the bathroom, phone in her pocket, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and a smile that is as lazy as his lifting the corners of her mouth. "Thanks for the coffee," she smiles, grabbing her cup and coming to sit beside him where he leans against the headboard, fitting herself comfortably into the hollow space made between his outstretched arm and his side.

"No problem," he smiles, squeezing her shoulders. And then, because he can't help himself - "How'd it go with Stefan?"

"He's…worried, understandably," Elena starts, hesitant, picking at a stray thread in the comforter. "But I told him I'm fine, not to look for me." She says this quietly, still not looking at him.

"Elena…"

"Yes?"

When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide, vulnerable as a fawn's. She is soft and warm against him, her legs tangled with his and the sheets, her body insinuated so closely next to his that he's not quite sure where unbreakable vampire skin meets fragile human flesh and blood. This real, here-and-now.

He meant to speak, to lay out an ultimatum, but he finds that he _can't. _Not with her so close and distracting, turning his insides into some unrecognizable sort of goo. She takes warm and fuzzy to the extreme - he feels like his heart has practically melted straight through his chest.

Instead of talking, of ruining the moment with words, Damon bends his neck, bringing his head level with hers, the fingers of one hand reaching gently out to trace the edge where her jaw meets her throat. _She _kisses _him_ this time, closing the distance between their mouths in one searing-hot movement, capturing his lower lip between hers, nipping gently. Trembling helplessly against her, weak like a newborn colt, he lets her take the lead. As her fingers push his chest back, down against the headboard, he marvels at the power she has over him.

Human and feeble as she is, she has him completely under her control, bent to her will as surely as a tree broken by a hurricane. He is powerless against her, vulnerable, shaking-weak as her hand creeps under his shirt. Elena is like nothing he has ever known, a force of nature, her mind as bright as standing the sun without his Lapis Lazuli ring, but minus the pain. _Elena_, he thinks, her name is Greek for _light_. How very appropriate.

Eventually, the girl in question detaches her lips from him and curls up against his side, leaving him a weightless tangle of fiery nerve-endings and overheated skin, lying dazed on the bed with his shirt unbuttoned - _when did that happen_? - and a faint pleasure-pain pulsing just over his carotid artery. Confused, Damon lifts his hand to his neck, sluggishly applying pressure to the odd-feeling area. The skin is hot and slightly swollen under his fingertips.

Elena frowns, batting his hand away and sitting up, inspecting his neck clinically, as though she had not just finished introducing his body to the definition of the word _ravish_.

"Damn, I'm sorry!" She says suddenly, leaping from the bed and dashing over to the ice bucket on the desk before he has time to answer. Carefully, she presses an ice cube to the hot spot on his neck, rubbing back and forth like she expects something to happen. "I thought your skin was unmark-able," she adds under her breath, seeming a bit disconcerted.

"Not unmark-able," Damon corrects, trying to sit up, glaring at her when she pushes him back down, "un_breakable_. We can get bruises and rug burn and - wait a second, _what _exactly is wrong with my neck?"

Elena blushes a deep scarlet, looking down and away, still holding the half-melted ice to his neck, though he is so numb from the cold that he can hardly feel her fingers anymore. "I -" she breaks off, embarrassed. Damon is instantly intrigued. Not many things embarrass cool-and-confident Elena.

"Tell me."

There is shifting and debating, stalling as she wanders over to the bathroom to dump the rest of the ice cube in the sink. Damon waits on the bed, knowing it is only a matter of time before she succumbs - his eyes have been boring holes into her back since she avoided his question. Finally, she turns back to him, reaching unexpectedly for his iPod on the bedside table. Silently, she scrolls through his applications, then taps out a few letters. Hand shaking, she passes the device to him.

And then she turns on her heel, running for the bathroom. Not even glancing at his iPod screen, he gets up to follow, but for once, she is faster, and the door is locked behind her before he is halfway across the room.

Confusion drawing his eyebrows together, Damon picks up his iPod, wondering what could possibly freak Elena out. Elena is _always_ calm and diplomatic, the pretty, in-control Princess who is rarely ever flustered.

His mobile dictionary application lights up underneath the glass display, showing a single word and its definition:

_Hickey - a temporary red mark or bruise on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover._

Damon touches his neck, then the iPod screen, making sure he is reading right. Then he touches his neck again, fingers resting longer this time, feeling the slightly raised area where Elena's mouth had been just minutes before -

And bursts into laughter. This is absolutely _ridiculous. _Elena, worried over hurting _him_, concerned over this apparently embarrassing 'hickey' thing. Elena, whose boyfriend is a vampire. She can share blood, can bear to see Stefan _cut himself _for her, but _this _bothers her?

"It's not _funny_," Elena's muffled, strained voice protests from the bathroom.

Rolling his eyes, but somehow managing to contain his laughter, Damon walks over to the bathroom door, leaning against the frame, tapping gently on the wood with his knuckles. "Come on, Elena, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

The door squeaks open a crack, and one of Elena's jewel-bright eyes peer out at him hopefully. "Are you sure?" The sniffle in her voice is pathetically adorable and endearing, tightening something in Damon's chest, stimulating that part of his brain that makes him want to hug her.

"I'm sure," he laughs gently. "Now let me in."

Elena pauses, and he can see her hand on the doorknob through the minuscule crack she has open to allow them to talk. He knows that she knows that they _both _know that he could force her to open the door, easy as pie, but he wants everything between them to be on her terms, so he holds back. "Really, baby, I'm fine. I don't know what you're so worked up about."

The door opens, and Elena stands in front of him, face red and tear streaked, holding a tissue to her chest for dear life. "You called me baby," she murmurs. Damon raises one eyebrow in an of-course-I-did expression.

And then she is falling into his arms, a blubbering, red-faced, cute little mess.

"I'm sorry I freaked out but I've never _ever _done that to anyone before, not even - not even S-Stefan, and with Stefan I _tried _to, but it never worked, and he told me that it was probably because he's a vampire, but I didn't even have to try with you, Damon, and maybe that means that I like kissing _you _more than I like kissing _him, _and if I kiss you harder just because you're _Damon _then what does that mean about me?"

She says this all very low and very fast, face pressed into the cotton of his shirt. The only way he understands is by straining his vampire ears and paying attention to the vibration of her voice through his chest. Rubbing her back, Damon remains silent for a moment, letting her calm down while he collects his thoughts.

After a pause, he walks her backward into the bathroom, hoisting her up by the waist and settling her on the bathroom counter, standing in between her spread knees like he actually has a right to be there.

"Look, Elena," he starts in his trademarked soothing voice, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Relax. Its not a big deal. So you got carried away -"

"I _never _got carried away with Stefan -"

" - it's not a crime," he finishes his sentence as though she didn't interrupt. "Now stop worrying about how you act around me versus how you act around my brother. We're different people, so of course you behave differently around each of us. Relax. Don't think about it as Stefan or Damon, think about which version of _Elena _you like better. Okay?"

Elena nods into his chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. "When did you get smart?"

"I'm not smart," Damon grins, "just old."

They both laugh, and Elena pulls back to look at him, ironing her thumb across his smooth, wrinkle-free forehead. "You don't _look_ old," she jokes lamely, giggling at herself. Rolling his eyes, Damon steps away, pulling the door open wider.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Now you take a shower and get cleaned up. I'm going out."

"Out where?"

"To buy clothes and breakfast. Or would you rather be alone with a naked and hungry me?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Elena laughs, springing off the counter and taking a step towards him.

"I don't know," she says, mocking thoughtfulness. Then her smile turns wicked. She reaches for the hem of her shirt, and before he knows what is happening, her t-shirt is up and over her head. "Same question, but applied to me," she says, grinning, her shoulders exposed in the tiny pink camisole that clings to her like a second skin.

Damon is nearly salivating, so he backs out of the bathroom like anthrax has been released, hands raised in surrender. "Touché," he manages, once his back is turned on her. "Next time I'll think before making a wiseass comment."

"Yes, you will," Elena says, and when he turns back to look, she is leaning in the bathroom doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest, a smug smile on her face. "See ya in a bit."

"One more thing, Elena," Damon says, stopping her in the process of closing the bathroom door behind her. "You said you 'kiss me harder' than Stefan…" He waits until she nods gently. "It's because I seem less breakable to you. Invulnerable. Like you can push me harder. And you're right, so don't sweat it." Flashing his pearly white smile at her stunned expression, Damon saunters out the door, down the hall, taking the stairs three at a time down all thirty flights of stairs.

In the lobby, he does his own personal happy dance - hands thrown over his head, spinning a circle, not caring who sees or if he looks like an idiot. He is going out to buy clothes for Elena. Elena, who is currently taking a shower - _naked_, by the way - in his hotel room upstairs. Elena, who gave him this magical 'hickey' thing that Stefan _never _got.

Head in the clouds - or more accurately, thirty floors above him, with Elena - Damon saunters out onto the street, hailing a taxi with one smooth, practiced motion. And he can't help thinking - _things are looking up for me, after all._

A/N: Hope you guys have enjoyed the recent long chapters and quick updates! Please, please, please, continue to review. It makes my day. Seriously. I plan to have another chapter up tomorrow (squee), and I don't want to give out any spoilers, but the Dark Damon that some of you are fond of will be making a reappearance soon!

Cheers, Sammy


	11. 10 500YearOld Virgin

Three hours later, Damon is dressed in brand-new clothes - Pink Floyd t-shirt, black jeans, expensive ray bans from a specialty store in the city - his hair wet from the shower, sock-less and lounging on the bed. Absently, he shoves another raspberry scone into his mouth, chews, swallows with a sip of 'soda', something fizzy and exciting that reminds him of kissing Elena. Next up is a bite of his beloved chocolate bar. More soda. Half of a cream-cheese-frosted bagel for good measure.

"Elena," he calls towards the bathroom, mouth still full of scone. "You almost ready? If you don't hurry up, I'm going to eat _all _of this human food. And probably throw up. On your shoes."

"I'm coming, I'm coming, relax!" Elena calls. And sure enough, not three more seconds pass until she is pulling open the bathroom door, stepping out into the bedroom, suddenly shy, looking at him from under her lashes. "What do you think?"

Jaw dropping, Damon scrambles into a sitting position, taking in every inch of her. She's wearing a jewel-blue sundress that _exactly _matches her eyes and white strappy heels. It is simple, but stunning, beautiful, _her_. Pride rushes through him at the idea that he chose this for her, quickly followed by a rush of desire as he thinks about the Victoria's Secret paraphernalia under it.

There's something secret and intimate about knowing the color lace on her bra. It makes him launch from the bed and grab her around the waist, spinning her around in a few tight circles. "You're gorgeous," he whispers in her ear, and she laughs, her breath stuttering and warm on his neck.

Before he falls into his Elena-haze and forgets that he needs to say something to her, Damon deposits her on the bed, next to his buffet of packaged food and half-empty drink bottles. Elena has the decency to look a bit disappointed at being set down, but takes a swig of his soda and makes herself comfortable.

"You and all the food, Damon," she giggles, waving around a raspberry scone. "I'm starting to think that you've gone soft."

"Me, soft? Ludicrous," Damon smiles, tugging one of her high-heel clad feet into his lap and trying to tickle her toes around the shoes. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with being into this wonderful creation called _chocolate_." He taps her toe with the pointer finger of his free hand, shoving half of his candy bar into his mouth with the other.

After the sweetness of the chocolate has melted and Elena's toes are her own property again, Damon clears his throat, trying to get serious. He has to ask her now. Has to. Because if none of this is real, he might as well let it end now, rather than spinning it out any longer.

"Elena?"

She looks up at him, blue eyes bright and sparkly. Adorable. Sweet. Perfect. But _his_? Maybe. Or maybe not. "Okay, I'm just gonna come right out and say it," he decides out loud, getting up from the bed, starting his customary difficult-situation-pacing. He turns to her, holding out his hands like a balanced scale. "You have two choices." Elena only nods, looking resigned as she takes another sip of soda.

"I can take you home today. You go back to Stefan and we forget that anything happened here."

Her cute little nose wrinkles in displeasure. "What's the other option?"

Surprised that she would _want _another option, even after all that's gone on between them, Damon is struck dumb for a minute, thinking. Then he whisks back in front of her, pulling her to the edge of the bed, hands on her knees. "We continue this little road trip," Damon says slowly, measuring his words.

She pauses for a moment, considering. "How long?"

"Until you decide…" he trails off, searching for the right words, "…what you want." _Or more accurately, _who_ you want,_ Damon thinks.

Silent, she stares at him, head tilted just slightly to the side, considering. _Yes_, she's thinking, he can see it in in her eyes, in the way she leans subconsciously into him, bent towards him like a refracted ray of light.

And then she is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him with her as she falls back onto the bed. "Yes," she whispers, voice warm and quiet against his ear. He conforms to the shape of her below him like a Memory Foam mattress in reverse, stretching until he covers every inch of her with every inch of him.

Then he is nothing, nothing but a string of nerves lit up like Christmas lights, pounding heart, flesh and blood, breathing hard and fast into her hair as her fingernails scratch down his back. Human and small and vulnerable, he melts against her, losing that signature sharp-edged attitude and emotional body-armor. Like this, they are perfect for each other. Just he and Elena.

"Tell me this is real," Elena murmurs against his collarbone, teasing the skin there with her lips and the hard edges of teeth.

"Yes," he agrees, hardly aware of what he's saying.

"And tell me how you feel about me."

"God, I -" he breaks off for a moment, and her hands and mouth still. The world waits while his mind finally makes a coherent, fully conscious and sober decision to say the words, "- I love you."

"I didn't hear you," Elena teases, pushing slightly on his chest until he sits up enough for her to tear his shirt over his head.

"I love you," he says, louder this time, and her fingers trace the contours of every ridge of muscle, down his chest and across his stomach, making him shiver as her nails brush the waistband of his too-low jeans. She is teasing him now, and like any spoiled teenage boy, he is pissed off. He wants her and he wants her _now_. His instincts propel him on as he - very carefully - nips at her earlobe with his teeth tucked inside his lips. Again, louder, since she is apparently still unsatisfied - "I love you."

"Still not loud enough."

"I fucking _love you_, Elena Gilbert!" Damon yells, voice bouncing off the walls and back towards them a thousand times over. She stares up at him, pale-faced and surprised at the animal intensity behind the words, the darkness that he knows must be lurking behind his eyes. Because the truth is very simple - loving her goes against his nature. He is the predator. She is his prey. Circle of life, the food chain, so on and so forth, as it has been since the beginning of time. Vampires don't need love. Sometimes they chose mates, fostered relationships, yes, but their instinctive human social instinct was wiped out by the Change. And Damon, Damon had never really _cared_.

But…he's learning to, learning _right now_. Unknowing, Elena is his teacher, a model for him to follow, and all this time, he's been staggering after her like a baby taking its first steps. Affection he learns from her approving smiles and tender hugs. Friendship, from how she treats Matt and Bonnie and Meredith. He sees her dedication and her loyalty, her fierce protective instincts for those who surround her.

And love?

Love, he learned from her and Stefan.

"I love you," he says again, quiet this time. "And I'm just starting to realize how very messed up it is, but I don't care, because it's true." Probably because she doesn't know what to say, she is kissing him again.

And he is letting her.

Hands slide on skin, and he feels warm and slick inside, like the chocolate melted to its wrapper in his back pocket. His jeans are on the floor, even though he'd just put them on two hours ago. Cotton boxers grow acquainted with Victoria's Secret satin, Elena's pretty dress on the back of a chair across the room -

- Vampires don't _do _this -

It doesn't matter. Hipbones rub together through negligible amounts of clothing, probably bruising, but neither of them care. Breathing in tandem, hearts skipping beats, she pulls him down to her, catches his lips with a fierceness that shows she is just as hungry as he is.

"I don't know how long -" she is trying to speak, words breaking into nothingness around her racing breaths, " - how long I wanted you, but - you were so -" his teeth catch the side of her neck now, less gentle than he should be, but not drawing blood, " - _cold_, and I was so scared that -"

"That I'd kill you?" He manages around heavy breathing, his tone bitter, even as his lips learn how to follow the curve of her shoulder.

"No," she says, chest heaving against the confines of red lace, "that you wouldn't ever let me _in_."

Her voice is earnest, honest, and he can't remember a time when anyone was as _interested _in him as she is, as she has been. Not his father, not Katherine, certainly not Stefan… Something breaks in his chest, and he clutches her closer, hands in her hair and mouth claiming hers with a neediness that knocks him breathless.

The rest of their clothes join the growing pile on the floor.

_God, she is beautiful_, and there is nowhere left to hide, no defenses, absolutely _nothing _getting in between Damon and Elena. For an unprecedented moment, Damon has no clue what to do. Elena certainly does. They tangle like a pretzel, and he pretends like he knows how this sort of thing works, pretends that this is normal, casual, that he knows exactly what goes where and for how long. Matched up, overheating, skin-on-skin and bone to bone, there is a pause.

Elena's deep blue eyes lock onto his, and she sees through him, just like always.

He takes a breath. "Elena, I've never…"

Enough is said. She nods, understanding, knowing somehow with her special _Elena _brand of mind reading, that never means _never_, not just in this lifetime. And somehow she seems to know that he isn't quite…ready. He hardly understands it himself, but he's glad to have her on his same page.

Slow, meticulous, they get up, comb windswept hair and redress, sneaking not-so-subtle glances out of the corners of their eyes, touching casually, like they've been at this routine of not-quite-getting-there for years. New clothes are packed into the duffle bag he bought, belongings are collected, inventoried, a mismatch of _Damon _and _Elena _items going into the same bag easy, but with a significance that makes his heart clench. They are in this together, now.

Checkout goes smoothly, as does the ten minute ride through traffic out of the city. Elena holds his hand. For all the skin-sharing and the Big Almost from just an hour earlier, the casual touch makes Damon's heart pound.

Out of the city and back on the highway, Damon pulls off onto the first exit that promises Mobile gasoline for his beloved car. He pumps the gas, and Elena offers him a quick kiss before darting into the gas station's main pavilion, on a mission to retrieve brochures for any surrounding attractions, snacks, soda, and most important of all, _chocolate_.

When he is done with the gas, he swipes his credit card, pays, and parks the car in the nearest parking space before jogging into the store after Elena. When he enters, she is already half-way finished checking out, and she waves her fingers in his direction. He is at the counter, arm around her waist before he knows what is happening. The man at the register puts his eyes back where they _belong_, on the items Elena is buying, and _not _on the generous _v _of her dress.

After Elena pays - with the cash he gave her, of course - Damon scoops up all the bags on the counter, excepting the one that Elena insists on taking, the one he _allows _her to carry after she mutters something about 'female items' under her breath.

Damon holds the door for Elena, hand on her lower back -

"Have a great honeymoon, kiddies!" The man at the register calls after them.

Damon tosses a wink and a shimmering smile over his shoulder.

"Oh, we certainly will."


	12. 11 Stefan

Another hotel. Florida, right on the ocean, with a balcony that overlooks the beach. Midnight, salty air spilling through the open window, and Damon Salvatore lays awake, trying not to breathe too unevenly. He doesn't want to wake Elena.

Elena, whose hair is spread across his neck, whose warm cheek is pressed against the bare skin of his chest. Elena. Elena _Gilbert_. Sleeping on him like this is some cheesy romance novel. Good God, who would have thought?

Absently, Damon strokes her hair, the smooth skin of her shoulder, runs his fingertips along the edge of her jaw. His touch is feather light and delicate, soft as the brush of eyelashes against a cheek. Elena doesn't stir. One leg thrown over his, both of her arms wrapped around his neck, she covers him like a blanket. Her heartbeat flutters over every exposed inch of his skin.

His eyes fall closed, lazy, and he tilts his head further back onto the pillows. _This is it_, he thinks, rubbing the flat of his palm down Elena's back. _This is what it means to be human_.

To hold this beautiful, sleeping girl close, to feel their hearts beat together, hear every breath, every sigh, feel every slight shifting of her body over his. This is perfect. And he's just starting to realize that he's been missing out all these years. Just starting to _get it_. Being human doesn't mean weakness.

No. It means more. A lot more. Love and lust and the passionate fire burning deep in the pit of his stomach, making him feel all melty and warm inside, like the core of him has been turned into molten marshmallow. Sweaty palms, racing heart, tingling fingertips, stomach full of what must be ten-foot wingspan butterflies. This is scary, exhilarating, fantastic, like being dropped from a great height with no guarantee of safety.

He loves being in love with Elena. Adores her, adores the high he gets from holding her too close for vampire comfort, is enamored with the idea of waking up in the morning with her spooned against his chest. His hands roam up Elena's back, her arms, palm coming to a rest at the nape of her neck, fingers twining carefully into the baby-soft hair there. He sighs. Breathes deep. Lets the smell of Elena's skin coax his eyes shut. It occurs to him vaguely that he's never had someone like this - someone he trusts enough to be _this _vulnerable with. Not even Katherine. Never Katherine.

Sighing deep, Damon shifts gently, so that Elena's cheek falls against his collarbone, _perfect_, matched up like they were built for each other. He sighs again. This is ridiculous. Crazy. Who would have thought that he'd be here, holding the woman of his dreams? Certainly Damon never thought of it. Until Elena, he'd never _had _a 'woman of his dreams'.

Damon smiles, holding her closer.

"I love you," he whispers in her hair. There is something freeing about this, of telling her while she is asleep, oblivious. "I love you." The words come easier the second time, fall off his lips with an ease that makes him breathless. "I love you. I love you. I -"

A feral growl sounds from the corner of the room, hot and dark and angry, and Damon's muscles spring into action as though they had been waiting for this since the second he and Elena left Fell's church. He moves Elena off of him quickly, silently, and she hardly even stirs in her sleep as he deposits her on the bed. Vampire speed, he pounces in front of the bed, assuming a catlike, protective crouch. If anything _dares _to threaten Elena, he will tear the offender limb from limb, muscle from bone, grind every last bit into something too small to ever be identified -

"Who's there?" His voice is entirely _Damon_, sharp and cutting like a piece of broken glass in the gutter. Harsh and strong and powerful, he releases the words on a growl that comes from deep in his chest.

The answer is low, almost a whisper, but he would recognize the voice anywhere.

"I would kindly appreciate it if you would _get away from my girl_."


	13. 12 Cain and Able

"_Your_ girl?" Damon asks, straightening from his crouch, his tone suddenly casual, posture relaxed. He will _not _be intimidated by his little brother. Especially not now. Damon is the winner - he has the girl, the love, the power. And Stefan, as always, is just a sore loser, a spoiled kid throwing a temper tantrum now that he isn't getting his way.

"Yes, _my _girl," Stefan scoffs, eyes flashing dangerously in the silvery moonlight, his pale skin leeched of color. "Elena loves _me_, Damon. You lost. Now let her go, and we can all just -" "You want me to 'let her go'?" Damon chuckles lowly, shaking his head at his brother's naïveté. He gestures towards the sleeping girl on the bed behind him. "Dude, nothing's stopping her from leaving."

"She's afraid of you."

Stefan's words hit a raw nerve, and Damon sets his jaw, clenches his fists - anything to keep the anger burning along the insides of his veins from spilling over. "She loves me," he says around the edges of locked teeth.

"Don't be so sure." Stefan's voice is arrogant, condescending, and the role-reversal of their emotions makes Damon's blood burn hotter. He takes a step forward, canine teeth extending out of instinct, arms shaking in the effort to keep from moving any closer, from killing his godforsaken brother _right here_, with Elena sleeping so peacefully behind him.

_Elena_. Remembering himself, Damon relaxes his stance. "Let's take this outside, little brother," he says, words sharp and clipped. "You wouldn't want to wake her."

At this, both of their gazes flick subconsciously to the girl in question. Elena, all tangled up in the sheets, clutching a pillow in Damon's absence, wearing only her tiny pink camisole and a pair of Damon's black silk boxers. No bra. Lips slightly parted, one bare leg extended out towards Damon's side of the bed, the hem of his boxers hiked up to the top of her thigh. She is the picture of casual, relaxed, the soft curve of her mouth _happy_. She has chosen Damon, is with Damon, and nothing Stefan can say or do will make that fact any less sweet.

_That's right, Stefan_, _she's all mine now,_ Damon thinks smugly, his gaze moving over his brother's face, reading the emotions there: shock, a pinch of anger, and a hurt that runs deep, pain that seems to come from somewhere far inside him. But the moment passes, and Stefan's eyes are an unemotional mask. He turns, heads for the door. Though all Damon really wants to do is lie back down with Elena, he follows his brother into the hall, downstairs, across the bright lobby, and out into the night.

The air is sticky, humid, clinging to Damon's skin like sunscreen, seeping in through his pores to the very core of him, making him feel slow, lazy. He and Stefan walk in silence, have been walking in silence. Across the parking lot and into a nearby copse of trees with thick, fleshy leaves that remind him of South American jungles, of hunting things in the dark, sleek black panthers, of what he used to be. Elena has changed him, both in the year he's known her and in these past days, warped his twisted sense of morality back into shape, bent him easily to her will. He is what she wants him to be, what he should be. And as Stefan slows, stops, turns to face him with murder in his leaf-green eyes, Damon realizes one very important thing. If Stefan wants a fight, he isn't going to get one. Elena wouldn't want them fighting, not like this, not over her. So Damon _won't_. It's that simple.

"What do you want me to say, Stefan?" Damon asks before Stefan has a chance to speak, his voice calm, neutral as Switzerland. Stefan remains quiet, looking at the ground, fire burning behind those eyes. Damon hasn't seen that burning look since that day, so long ago, when they had turned on each other, when Stefan's sword had run through Damon's heart and vice versa. The betrayal, the anger, that raw, biting _pain_…

Damon looks away. "I won't say I'm sorry," he says, staring out into the dark, midnight forest, "because I'm not. I'm _not_, brother, and you know what?" Damon bends his head down, moving so that Stefan is forced to look him in the eyes. "I'd do it all over again."

"I know," Stefan chokes, taking a step back. "I _know _that, know _you_. You're a selfish, egotistical, girl-stealing bastard, and you always have been. Always. I should have staked you through the heart the _moment _you dared touch Elena." His voice is low, dangerous, eyes wild as he finally looks Damon in the eye of his own free will. "You've been my brother, my enemy, my savior, my friend. But I never should have trusted you."

"You're right," Damon says with all of his classic Damon-ness, devil-may-care, I-don't-give-a-shit-what-you-think, a cocky smile lifting half of his mouth. He hides the fact that his brother's words cut him in places he didn't know he could hurt. His human instincts are on full, nerve-tingling alert, and his heart clenches. He's not sorry about Elena. But he is sorry for the heartbreak he sees in the eyes of his brother, in the way that Stefan's hand clenches subconsciously over his chest like something jagged is forcing its way out from under his skin.

Stefan nods, eyes squeezed shut. "I thought, maybe, I saw something redeemable in you. Thought that being friends with Elena would reform you, humanize you."

_Oh, Stefan_, Damon thinks miserably. _You have no fucking clue_.

"But I was wrong," Stefan continues, gaining strength again, anger overpowering the crushing grief in his eyes. He straightens, drops his hand from his chest, takes a menacing step forward. "You can go to hell, Damon, for all I care. Maybe that's the one place you really belong."

The moment suspends, and Damon knows everything - how Stefan's arm is drawn back just so slightly, the precise angle at which Stefan's clenched fist will hit Damon's jaw when he releases. He knows exactly how to counter the attack - _grab his arm before he has a chance, use his weight against him, slam him on the ground and beat him to a pulp_. And he hears her. Elena. Hears her heartbeat all the way back through the thick woods and across the parking lot, her feet pounding the asphalt, calling his name. He knows that Stefan - so blinded by his anger and bloodlust - doesn't hear her.

He lets Stefan hit him. Lets the solid knuckles of St. Stefan's right hand slam into his jaw so hard that he sees stars. His head snaps back, and he is falling, stumbling backwards into the underbrush, tripping. Back slamming into the ground, head hitting a jagged rock, unable to catch his breath, he lies still, pain radiating from his jaw, from the back of his head, from the ankle he twisted as he fell.

"First Katherine," Stefan says, advancing on Damon, climbing over him, pinning him down by sitting squarely on his upper legs. "Now Elena. You jackass. Did you _ever _stop to think that maybe, just _maybe_, I needed love more than you did? You had everything, Damon. Everything. That swagger and grace, your charisma, your power. You could have _anyone you wanted_, but of course, you had to have what _I _wanted."

Stefan wrenches Damon up by the shoulders, slams him back down again, the back of his head connecting with solid stone again. He tastes blood in his mouth as the white-hot pain radiates from his head down his neck, searing along his nerves like wildfire. In spite of the pain, he shakes his head just slightly.

"You're wrong," he mutters. "_You _had everything. Father loved you. Everyone loved you. You were the perfect son, the perfect little student -" he pauses around a stilted gasp of pain "- I was a disappointment."

"Don't feel sorry for yourself," Stefan growls, pulling his hand back, then snapping it forward, his fist hitting Damon's cheekbone. The skin there splits, tears like flimsy cotton against Stefan's brute strength, Damon's head forced back again, skull jarring against stone. He is on fire, every inch of him screams for comfort, for someone to save him from the consuming pain - anything…

Elena's mind, white-gold like a candle flame, dances tauntingly on the peripherals of his brain. He can feel the shape of her thoughts through the pain, knows that she is currently picking her way across the forest's edge, knows that _she _knows that if he's gone, he's with Stefan, and if he's with Stefan, they're in the woods. But she isn't moving fast enough, hasn't yet found the path of snapped twigs and disturbed underbrush. She won't get here in time. No one will stop Stefan from killing him, from murdering his brother for the second time. Again, over a pretty blonde girl with deep blue eyes.

"I don't feel -" Damon's voice breaks, he coughs, his own blood on his lips, his tongue, flowing fast from his split cheek and the back of his head "- _anything_ for myself."

Stefan silences him with another punch, this time hitting his gut, holding him down even as Damon tries to curl inward on himself, protect himself. But he doesn't fight back. Elena wouldn't want it. Elena wouldn't…

_Thud_. His jaw cracks, fractured. _Thud_. Blood pours from his nose, but he doesn't cry out, and though his eyes water, no tear breaks free. Stefan can beat him for the rest of eternity, can beat him _to death_, but Damon refuses to give him the satisfaction of giving in to the pain that radiates from every inch of his skin.

_Thud_. The rock behind his head feels like a part of him, like it has finally broken through hair and skin and bone, found the ancient flesh of his overworked brain.

_Snap_. His right forearm breaks between Stefan's hands as easily as a tree branch, firecracker pain jumping up his arm to his head and back down again, throbbing with the rapid beating of his heart.

"Fight - _back_!" Stefan demands, punctuating the sentence with a fist smashing against Damon's cheek.

"No."

"Why - not?" Stefan hits him again, draws him up by the shoulders and slams him back down, squeezes his broken arm until it feels like the bones might just shatter into a million pieces. But Damon doesn't move - not to defend or to take the offensive.

He smiles wryly, ignoring the searing of his split lip. "Mother - mother told me - not to hit - a lady -"

"You asshole," Stefan growls, grabbing Damon by the shoulders, shaking until his Damon's head flops limply from side to side, his neck seeming like Jello, lacking the strength for support. "Be straight with me, for once in your miserable life -"

"Because Elena wouldn't want me to!" Damon yells, mustering the strength, forcing the words from his throat on all the breath he has left. His insides feel torn, raw, but hope sparks somewhere in his chest, because he knows that somewhere close in the forest, Elena has heard him, heard her name. He feels the cast of her mind - afraid, afraid for him, for Stefan, for history repeating itself. She is running, sprinting, barely catching herself as her toes stick on roots. But her human legs won't carry her fast enough…and _God, I need her right now_. "She wouldn't," he says again, after his breath returns. "Even if you kill me. She wouldn't want me to fight -"

"Elena isn't here," Stefan sneers, his eyes vampire-dark and angry, boring holes into Damon. There is no sense in Stefan now, he is too far gone to see reason, to see that killing Damon will do more harm than good, that Elena is the most important thing, and if she doesn't want them to fight, then they shouldn't…they _shouldn't_…

Stefan's hand falls to Damon's neck, fingers constricting, wrapping around his windpipe, slowly crushing. Damon's highly tuned senses feel each capillary break, feel the squeeze and pressure of each of Stefan's thin, strong fingers. He struggles, the last of his strength flowing into a weak attempt at escape, nails scrabbling for purchase on Stefan's arms, his hand, fingers, _anything. _His eyes blur, and he stares up at his brother, back arching as he writhes against Stefan's crushing, murderous hands. His eyes go wide. Vision starts tainting black around the edges, and all he can see are Stefan's eyes - leaf-green and terrifying, devoid of that light that makes him human, makes him _feel_.

_I'm your brother, _he wants to say, wants to scream. _How can you do this to me, even after everything?_

And then… And then the pressure stops. Stefan is off of him, and Damon greedily gulps down air, his lungs laboring to pull in extra oxygen. For a moment, he is grateful for whatever distracted Stefan, for whatever poor creature has sacrificed themselves to save him, but then -

He hears it.

Hears her.

Elena.

Screaming.

Damon struggles up, but falls again, his legs refusing to support him, his face falling into the dirt when his arms fail to catch him. He looks around, eyes straining against the dark, through the trees that surround him, looking for Elena, for Stefan, for anything -

Another scream. Five feet ahead and a yard to his right. He pulls himself to his knees, grabs the trunk of a tree for support, then lurches from the tree to the one in front of him, falling against the rough bark, tearing the blood-streaked skin of his neck, face, the palms of his hands. "Elena!" He calls, voice breaking on tears he didn't know he was crying. "Elena! Stefan, you - hurt her - I'll fucking - _destroy _you -!" He stumbles forward, tree to tree, and the silence is deafening. It presses on his eardrums, more horrible than Elena's screaming, because at least _screaming _means she's…_alive_…

"Elena!" he calls again, falling forward into an area of thinning trees, landing on his bruised knees and broken forearm, staring straight ahead, paralyzed by the sight before him.

Elena is in a half-sitting position on the ground, legs stretched awkwardly before her as though she fell the wrong way, supporting herself with the heel of one bloody. Her face is frozen in shock, eyes wide and staring, face a pale white, excepting the red mark on her cheek, the swelling skin along her jaw that is already bruising, pale blue rosettes on that perfect skin. Stefan stands before her, fist clenched at his side, still slightly extended towards her, _Elena_, the girl they've both loved, lost, sworn to protect.

No matter _what _Damon thought of Stefan - that he was ignorant, immature, cowardly, selfish - he never thought Stefan would be capable of hurting Elena. But apparently, he'd thought wrong.

Stefan's eyes widen, lose that feverish, animal edge as Elena stares up at him, afraid. Stefan looks from his clenched fist to Elena's marked-up jaw, then at Damon, then at his hands again, at the blood caked on his fingers and spattered on his clothes. _Damon's _blood. Then back at Elena's frightened doe eyes.

"Shit," Stefan finally says, in a voice almost a whisper. "Damn it, I didn't mean to -" He reaches out towards Elena, whether to offer help or comfort, Damon doesn't know, but Elena flinches from his hand, recoiling back into herself, tenderly feeling the swelling of her cheek with three fingers.

"Leave," Elena says, quiet but fierce, not looking at Stefan.

"Elena -"

"_Leave_," she interrupts, "and don't come back."

Stefan's eyes glitter with tears, his eyebrows drawing together. He looks wildly from Elena to Damon then back again, takes a step towards his brother, hand outstretched again, uncertain.

"You need help," Stefan mutters, shamefaced, dropping his eyes. "He can't walk, and you can't handle him on your own."

"We'll manage," Damon groans through clenched teeth. "Get away from me."

Stefan takes a step forward, and Damon growls low in his chest, trying to shuffle away, but his limbs seem detached from his brain and all he can do is lie there in the dirt, staring up at his little brother. Stefan, who, just hours ago, didn't seem to exist in Damon and Elena's world.

"You need me," Stefan says, stepping closer, leaning down, hand reaching for Damon's, fingers painted red with the blood of his brother, shining blackly in the moonlight. _Like goddamn Cain and Able_, Damon thinks, shrinking back from Stefan's hand. _Only, I'm on the wrong side of the murder._

"Don't _touch _him," Elena says, voice deadly, and Damon and Stefan's gaze flick immediately to her. She is on her feet, now, fierce and dangerous as a lioness protecting her cub. The authority in her tone knocks Damon breathless, makes him feel painfully safe and taken-care-of. Elena won't let Stefan hurt him any more. Elena's on his side and everything will be alright. His bones will knit back together in a few days, cuts heal shut and leave no scar. Everything is fine. As long as he has her.

"You _can't _move him anywhere," Stefan says weakly, his argument sounding thin and pathetic compared to Elena's icy power.

"You'd be surprised," she says coldly, "what I'm capable of. Now leave," she points one finger definitively towards the thinning trees and the parking lot, a move that would have seemed stupid in any other setting, but looked dramatic and purposeful coming from her.

"Elena -"

"_Now_, Stefan!"

With one last mournful look at Elena, Stefan turns, steps away, melts into the darkness like a specter. There is a pause, five breathless seconds pass, and then Damon can hear the far-off purr of Stefan's car as he peals away.

Elena is kneeling at his side before he knows what's happening, his sluggish brain not keeping up with his surroundings. She clutches his hand in one of hers, reaching out with the other to brush his bloody hair from his forehead. The moonlight throws her face into sharp relief, and he can see clearly the crystal tears on her cheeks, the deep bruise marking her pale skin. He reaches out, fingers trembling from pain and exhaustion, touching the side of her face gently. She closes her eyes, another tear leaking from the corner.

"I'm going to kill him," Damon says darkly.

Elena laughs a strangled sort of laugh, hallow and bitter. "It's just a bruise, Damon, don't worry about me -" she breaks off, eyes tracing the torn and broken edges of his body, focusing on each bruise and cut and broken bone like each of them is her own, tears flowing faster down her perfect cheeks. " - oh, God, I heard you yell and I thought you were - _Damon_, I thought you were dead -" she chokes, voice breaking on a sob, holding his hand tighter.

"I'm fine," Damon says weakly, smiling a smile that pulls on cuts and bruises and makes him wince.

"No, you're not," Elena murmurs. "Don't play brave with me."

Damon nods, tilting his head to rest back on the forest floor, trying to ignore the throbbing pain at the back of his skull. Elena is quiet for a moment, holding his hand, running her thumb across the backs of her knuckles, soft as a moth's wings.

Then, "Do you think you can move?"

"Yeah," he says, trying to sit up. His head spins, the world tilting strange as he falls back down, Elena's hands catching his shoulders before he collides too solidly with the ground. "Maybe. I don't know." He looks up, eyes pleading, the weak one for once, dependent on her. "Help me. Please?"

She nods. And from there they are a tangle of gripping hands and arms, fingers clenched tight and weight put on parts of him that don't hurt too much. She holds him around the waist, plastered to her side, and his arms wrap around her delicate shoulders, trying not to put too much weight on her, testing out his broken ankle.

"No, Damon," she instructs. "Don't but weight on it. Lean on me."

He hesitates, but the demand in her eyes is too much to refuse in his weakened state, and he gives in, leaning against her, muscle and bone and so very vulnerable. She holds him tight, and then they make their awkward, limping way through the forest, across the abandoned, dark parking lot, through the side entrance of the hotel so no one will see them. Elevator. Hallway. Hotel room. Bedroom. She lies out towels on the bed so he won't get blood on the sheets, helps him up and onto the bed. He lies still on his back, breathing deep. Elena applies pressure to various wounds, one at a time, clinical. The cut on his neck. His cheek. The back of his head. Jaw. Right eyebrow.

"Oh, Damon," she whispers, tears in her voice as she replaces the soaked-through towel behind his head with a clean one. He feels dizzy, disoriented, and his arms and legs feel cold. He tells Elena this, and she blanches. "You've lost too much blood," she says.

She is gone and back in a moment, the tiny scissors from his toiletry bag in hand.

And vaguely, he knows what she's doing…

Knows he should stop her…

"Don't," he manages to whisper. "Elena, don't -"

Her eyes are set, determined, and her jaw clenches. With her right hand, she moves the scissors to her palm. Quick and efficient, she cuts the length the lifeline in her palm short, holds her hand to his lips.

Damon looks up, sees not a trace of hesitation in her deep blue eyes. She is fierce, certain. And he can't help himself. The smell of her blood overwhelms him, a drop drips from her hand and onto his mouth, slipping in past his lips, the hard barrier of teeth, sweet like honey on his tongue.

His lips close over the cut.

And Damon drinks.


	14. 13 Fix You

When two pints of Elena's blood flows through Damon's system, he flops back down on the bed, satiated and feeling very fuzzy and warm, despite all the damage to his body, to his bones. He smiles lazily up at Elena, reaches out with his unbroken arm, gently locking onto her hand.

"Thanks," he murmurs, squeezes her fingers.

"Any time."

Damon closes his eyes, letting the darkness have him for just a moment. He feels Elena's fingers brush over his cheek, his forehead, his jaw, and when he looks at her, her gaze is tender, wide-eyed like a child.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Damon asks with a weak smile, blinking slowly up at her.

"Your cuts…" Elena says, tracing her fingers over his face. "They look a week old."

"Thanks to you." Groaning, Damon manages to sit up just slightly, letting Elena wrap her arm around his back in support. "Human blood…fixes vampires from the inside out. Like medicine, sort of."

"That's some weird-ass medicine," Elena comments, looking from the fresh cut on her palm to the mostly healed ones on Damon.

He nods, then winces at the motion, and Elena pull him gently to her shoulder, his head falling soft in the hallow of her neck. _Deep breaths, Damon_, he thinks, inhaling the smell of Elena's skin, her blood, that honeysuckle perfume she wears. He nuzzles his nose into her throat, clutches the leg of her jeans with the fingers of one limp hand. Vaguely, he realizes how pathetic this is. He is vulnerable, weak, a little boy looking for comfort, for protection. Him, the vampire, holding on to this small, fragile human girl for dear life.

For once, the weakness doesn't bother him. He lets Elena hold him, lets her stroke his hair, lets himself relax further against her.

"We should get you into a bath," Elena mutters against the shell of his ear, reluctantly breaking this moment of his dependence on her. "You're freezing."

"I feel alright," he protests, curling further into her, holding his injured arm between her chest and his. The warm, dark space between them feels like a cave, like hiding out under his blankets when he was young, pretending he was an explorer of some foreign land. This is comfort, this is love, here, what it means to be human.

"I'm worried for you," Elena whispers, lips against his hair, now, breath filtering down the back of his neck. "Don't fall asleep, please."

"I'm fine."

"You're broken," Elena counters, cradling her arm around his injured one. "And covered in blood. Damon, come on. Let me fix you." Coercive, gentle, she grips him around the waist, helps him up, carefully assists him in swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. She steadies him, looks down with those concerned, lapis lazuli eyes.

"You've already fixed me, 'Lena," he whispers. Honest, raw. He feels like he's touching the edge of something important, here in Elena's arms, sitting here on a plush hotel bed. He never thought he'd be here. Never thought he'd love.

_Oh, Elena_.

She flushes just so slightly, the apples of her cheeks blushing pink.

"You give me too much credit," she says, looking away, attempting to distract him by helping him to his feet, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders. They limp towards the bathroom, slowly and laboriously, Damon struggling to keep his weight both off her and off his foot.

"You - _deserve _- credit," he huffs out between clenched teeth, trying hard to ignore the needle-point pain in his broken ankle.

"Put your weight on me," Elena sighs.

Damon gives in. Leans on her, his weight spread across her shoulders gratefully. And then they are in the bathroom, Elena depositing him on the chair in the corner. She runs the bath, glances at him, categorizing his physical status.

"I'll be right back," she says nervously, backing towards the door, eyes glued to him. "Don't…you know…faint or anything."

"I'll try not to," Damon smiles.

Before he counts to three, Elena is gone and back again, clutching a plastic shopping bag in one hand, kneeling in front of him, a warm hand on his knee, the other rooting around in the bag. "What're you…?"

Elena silences him when she pulls out her supplies: six rolled-tight ace bandages, gauze, waterproof tape, Neosporin. "Remember at the gas station the other day?" She asks, unrolling one of the bandages, prying off the metal tab holding the edges together. "I told you I was getting 'feminine products'." A smile lifts the corners of her mouth, and she looks up at him. "I lied."

"Why?" His question is straight, plain, no subterfuge or any of his signature attitude. Not with Elena.

"I anticipated something like this," she says softly, looking down again, fingers delicately running along his bruised ankle, feeling the bones through his thin skin, searching for the break. He holds his foot absolutely still, not breathing.

Then, finally, "What do you mean?"

"Stefan. You. It's like a time bomb, Damon. I wanted to be ready to patch you up." Pressure, pull, her fingers stretching the ace bandage tight around his foot. Her eyes are cast down, concentrating on her work, but he sees the sheen to them, the welling up of tears, can smell the saltwater, heavy in the air like the tension between the two of them.

"How'd you figure I'd be the loser?"

"Not the _loser_, Damon. I asked you not to fight him, and you _didn't_. I can't imagine how hard it was for you to just let him do it, not to fight back…" She trails off, then raises up slightly before him, reaching for the injured hand that lies in his lap.

"I just kept thinking," he says as her fingertips inspect his wrist, "that if I fought back, I'd kill him. I'd kill him and you'd never look at me again, never forgive me. Elena, I don't know _why _but just thinking about you sad breaks my heart. I -" Damon cuts himself off. He's said too much. Confessed to having a heart. A _breakable _heart at that.

Telling Elena he loves her is one thing. But letting her know she has the power to break him? That is an entirely different situation.

Elena's warm hand reaches out to him, fingers brush his cheek delicately. "It's okay," she whispers. Pressure of fingertips on his cheek, running down to his jaw, forward, lingering just below his bottom lip. And then, like she can read his mind - "Just because I _could _break your heart doesn't mean I _will_. I'm here for you, Damon, and I promise I'll never hurt you."

He looks into those big sparkly lapis lazuli eyes of hers, gold-flecked and so very honest, clear-cut and limpid as the stone they so resemble. Of course Elena is telling the truth. Of course if Elena says she won't hurt him, then she means it. Of course, like usual, she is far too good for him.

And of course, a little voice speaks up in the back of his head, that distrustful, teenage Damon that still feels the ache of Katherine's betrayal, that understands what it means to be human, what it means to _hurt_. A little voice that wonders how Elena-the-angel could possibly mean what she says in regards to him.

"Never?" He asks. He can feel the pleading in his eyes, can hear it in his own voice. In another setting, he would have found himself pathetic. Now, though… Now he's learning to put up with his own out-of-control, love-sick emotions.

"Never," Elena says solemnly, eyes deathly serious, piercing right through him like nails on his own personal cross.

"And you promise you'll love me?"

"Yes."

"Forever?"

She pauses, and the half-second of silence says more than every word she's ever said to him. Finally, her voice cracking - "As long as I'm alive."

"That's not the same thing," Damon murmurs, trying to hide the pain in his voice.

"I know."

They are quiet, now. Elena's ace bandage secures his broken wrist, lining his bones up right with a tenderness that makes something inside him clench, pressure around his chest like a vice. She is so gentle, so careful with him, as though _he _is the human one, so easily broken… A brush of her lips across the back of his hand, and then she stands, turns away, pulls the handle of the bath. Running water roars through the silence, breaking the quiet, but not the tension.

While the tub fills, she stands angled away from him, busying herself with bubble bath pulled magically from her plastic first-aide bag. The room smells like lavender and vanilla, at once soothing and heady, relaxing his muscles…but simultaneously making him want Elena closer. Much closer.

He closes his eyes, leans back in the flimsy, hotel-suite-bathroom-chair, head falling softly against the wall. _Breathe, Damon, breathe. _He inhales deeply, exhales through his nose. Inhale, exhale. _Elena, Elena_. Inhale - _She's watching me._

Lightening-quick, his eyes snap open.

Sure enough, Elena is in front of him, leaning down to his level, dewy blue eyes and all, silent, breathing so quietly that _he _barely hears it.

"Damon?" She whispers.

"Yes?" His tone is low, reverent, like the tone that one would use in a church.

"I - I don't know how to ask this…"

"Yes?" He leans forward just so slightly, can smell the honeysuckle perfume clinging to her skin.

"Um…" She glances down, away, nervous. "In case you didn't know, it's usually a prerequisite to a bath that you take off your clothes…"

The sentence trails off into silence, and he understands. Understands that she is not planning on giving him privacy, not planning on letting him out of her sight for even a moment. Plus, with a broken ankle and wrist, he is not exactly _able _to help himself.

"Right," he says, then clears his throat, attempting bravado, "nothing you haven't seen before anyway."

"Yeah."

For a moment, awkwardness pervades, her hands twitching uncertainly at her sides.

But then…

Fingers find the bottom edge of his wife beater, torn and bloody, the one he threw on seconds before he walked out into the night with Stefan. Before everything changed. Before Elena turned definitively from Stefan to Damon. Once, the decision was between darkness and light, heaven and hell.

_Tonight_, Damon thinks as Elena's pure white fingers creep under his shirt, _proves that there's dark _and _light in all of us_. _Even me_.

Even Stefan.

Even…

Elena.

She's always been his angel. But now, with her hands steadily warming the skin of his stomach, there is nothing _angelic _in those deep blue eyes. In a few moments, she has shifted from his gentle protector to…this… Elena, with fire in her expression and in her hands, looking like…looking like -

_Katherine_ -

No. Not like Katherine… Just - Katherine is the only other person who ever looked at him like this. Lust, animal attraction, that burning in her eyes that is driving him crazy, filling his stomach with butterflies and god knows what else.

His shirt is off, and his head falls softly back again, eyes closing -

- And the moment shatters.

Elena gasps, and when he opens his eyes, she is staring at his bare chest, one hand over her mouth.

"Oh, _Damon_," she whispers, reaching out to touch his ribs softly. He glances down, sees the deep purple bruises covering his chest like thunderclouds on a pale sky, sees the tears welling in Elena's eyes.

"I'm fine -"

"He broke your _ribs_, Damon, this is _not _fine!"

"Elena, listen -"

But she is beyond listening. Her fingertips skim higher, ghosting over bruises and up his chest, to his neck, softly laying her fingers over the banded bruises marring his throat, fitting her hands to the space that Stefan had occupied earlier. Instinctively, Damon flinches back just slightly, but Elena doesn't let him go anywhere.

"He really would have killed you," she says after several long moments.

Damon nods. "We're _vampires_, Elena. It's what we do."

"Not Stefan," she says softly. "He -"

"_Yes_, Stefan," Damon cuts her off, voice firm, catching her hand in his uninjured one, squeezing fingers tight. "You're his territory. I infringed. Honestly, I was asking for it."

Elena is quiet, shaking her head. Looking down, she reaches for the zipper of his jeans, ignoring his slight jump as her hand brushes the hard ridges of his stomach. There is a moment, a slight suspending where her fingers touch the button fly of his jeans and he stares down at her, eyes meeting, and he could say no… Could revert to that cold, ice-shelled Damon and deny this effect she has on him…

But he doesn't.

His black jeans are flayed open in what seems to be a well-practiced move from Elena, and he sits up slightly to help her push them down his legs.

Black silk boxers hit the floor.

And Elena…

She's trying to hide it.

But Damon knows she's staring.

Damon always knows.

Author Note: Hey, thanks everybody for the spectacular reviews. They seriously make my day brighter and encourage me to keep writing this little piece of fluff. Hope ya'll liked the chapter! Oh, and I'd love feedback on what you think should happen next…… *winks* :] Thanks for reading!

Love, Sam


	15. 14 Honesty

Damon feels Elena's breathing, her heart beat, hears the acceleration of both. She is supposed to be supporting him, now, but honestly, _she _seems like the one in need of support. She is like putty in his hands, shaped to his whim, and his whim tells him to push her up against the wall and _have her, _right here, in every human sense of the phrase. Never mind his ankle and his wrist, he would re-break a thousand bones for just one minute spent with her in that way, with her so close and all human and melty against him. He knows how easy it would be. Elena's clothing would be so easily destroyed against his strength, and as for _his _clothes… She's already taken care of that.

Being exposed has never bothered him. His body is perfect, faultless - it's not arrogance, it's solid fact. What would he ever have to be nervous or ashamed of?

But Elena's gaze makes him feel small and vulnerable, and when she licks her lip he has to think of a variety of un-sexy things (baseball, Stefan, male mud-wrestling…Stefan) so that his…want for Elena goes unnoticed by her. It works, mostly, and he is extraordinarily glad when, after some maneuvering and accidental hand-brushing of various parts of his body, he is hidden under warm water and three inches of lavender-vanilla bubble bath.

Elena kneels beside him on the bathroom floor, her cheek resting on the edge of the bathtub. His ace-bandaged arm dangles over the edge and into her lap, where her fingers thread carefully with his. Injured foot sticking out of the tub, he should be uncomfortable, but Elena's flame-gold aura radiates warmth, protection, comfort, and he cannot help himself from slipping further under her spell.

"I love you," Elena whispers suddenly, and Damon snaps to attention. Her eyes focus on his, clear and honest, leaving no room for him to interpret something other than her blatant words. She has never said that to him before. Never.

Damon freezes, breath catching in his throat like that lump that forms as a precursor to tears. Struck dumb, he stares at her, and stares, eyes widened and heartbeat erratic, up to his ears in a combination of disbelief, wonder, and finally…understanding.

He looks down, away, the tops of his ears blushing red.

"Don't say that," he tells her quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because," he pauses, takes a deep breath, "you don't mean it."

This aggravates her. Elena's cheeks flush, eyebrows drawing together in a brief spark of anger. "I _love _you, Damon," she says slowly, dangerously, with a blackness in her expression that makes him want to eat her alive. "Isn't that what you want? What you've always wanted?"

She is so close, now, eyes dark and challenging in a non-Elena way, and it makes him think of just how much is the _same _between them. At their basic, they are aggressive, instinctual, fierce. There is a deep-run darkness in the both of them, though admittedly far more visible in Damon than in Elena. Him, the Prince of Darkness, and her, Angel Incarnate, so similar… Who would have thought?

He must shake himself out of his thoughts to answer how he knows he should.

"Yes," he says softly. "It is. But…think, Elena, I almost _died _tonight. If this had been a normal evening, if we were safe and sound in bed, would you be telling me this?"

Elena opens her mouth as if to say something, but then falls short, looking down, shamefaced. "I…don't know," she says cautiously, with a wispy sort of voice that makes her seem so delicate.

"Well, I propose you wait and tell me…_that…_when you do know, okay?"

Elena nods, then looks up at him with tear-filled, vulnerable eyes. "Why is it that you always know what to do?" She asks, with the air of a child's wonderment over a hero-worshipped elder friend.

Damon smiles, smoothing her golden hair away from her face, cupping her cheek in his palm and brushing away tears with his thumb. "Oh, Elena, I'm such a monumental fuck-up it's not even funny. You know that."

She laughs, nods, "Yeah, I do. But recently…" she takes his hand from her cheek, traces lines in his palm, "You seem less train-wreck than usual."

"Oh, thanks," Damon smirks, sarcastic.

"Any time," Elena grins.

Forty minutes later, the bathwater has gone lukewarm, the midnight silence of the hotel is absolute, and Elena has washed every inch of him with a hand-towel, successfully turning him into something with the mental capabilities of a sloth. He feels very slow and languid and unhurried, relaxed completely even as Elena towels him gently off and helps him into clean boxers and a black, loose fitted t-shirt.

"Do you _own _anything that doesn't come in black?" Elena asks teasingly as they make their slow, shuffling way back to bed.

"Nope," Damon says, popping the 'p'. "Black is my favorite color. Black is dominant. Black sucks in every color light, _period_. Plus," he pauses, a flirtatious half-smile lifting his cheeks as he winks, quick, at Elena, "it makes me look _unbearably_ sexy, don't you think?'

Elena laughs, elbowing him - very, _very _gently - in the side. "You look 'unbearably sexy' at all times, Damon, black notwithstanding," she giggles, exaggerating a once-over of his admittedly flawless frame.

"Mmm," he hums, pulling her onto the bed next to him after she has deposited him on the sheets, "why don't you come over here and show me how very _sexy _I am?"

Elena pushes him backwards gently, and he gives in, falling back onto the pillows, letting Elena fit into his side and pull the covers over the both of them. They are sealed in, huddled together, her body heat warming him like a space heater.

"You're all invalid," Elena giggles in response to his former statement, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. "Wait until your bones heal, then _maybe _we can have some Damon-and-Elena time, 'kay?"

"Oh, I know one of my…_bones _is perfectly up for Elena-and-Damon time," Damon murmurs suggestively, feeling playful and relaxed, despite everything in the past hours. _Perhaps this is what happens to everyone after they get their ass kicked_, Damon thinks mildly.

"Damon!" Elena scolds, mostly joking, slapping his shoulder carefully. "What's gotten into you?"

"You," he replies with a grin, kissing her forehead.

Then kissing her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Her bottom lip.

"_Damon_," she groans, half-heartedly pulling away, but he moves with her, pressing his mouth more firmly to hers, tugging her lip in between his teeth. Kissing her like this without being able to move much hurts his neck, but he _doesn't give a shit_, because Elena is giving up, kissing him back, lips moving against his with a tenderness that steals his breath.

Things slow down, though in the pit of his stomach, there's a heat that wants him to move faster, to crush her in his arms and never let go… But the reality of his injuries and the tiredness leeching into his system calms him down, makes him think with just a hint of rationality.

"Love you, 'Lena," he murmurs into her hair, and she snuggles closer, warm against him, pliant like a sleeping kitten.

Minutes pass, and he feels himself drifting, dreamlike, his limbs heavy on the bed.

And he thinks, for a moment, that he hears the far off voice of an angel whisper, "I love you, too," but consciousness fades around the edges like old pictures. And Damon knows no more.


	16. 15 The Drive Home

Stefan clenches his hands around the steering wheel, knuckles white, mere nanometers away from crushing the metal between his fingers. _Breathe, Stefan, breathe_, he thinks frantically, feeling as though he is gasping for air around the lump in his throat, like his lungs are too small and his brain isn't getting enough oxygen…

It's been four hours. Four hours since everything changed. The reality of his situation is just starting to hit him, just starting to settle in around him like a heavy blanket of fog. He almost _killed _Damon. _Damon_. Damon, the invincible, the prince of darkness, all black-velvet and sharp glinting teeth, he with his firecracker backtalk, that swagger, that deplorable _charm_. Damon, who has stolen Elena, lured her in like an innocent fly drawn to a web.

And tonight… Tonight, Stefan sealed the deal. He…_hurt _Damon, went for the kill, let himself go, become that bloodthirsty monster that is always lurking behind the well-cultivated exterior. Elena got caught in the crosshairs. For just a moment, he'd allowed his anger and heartache and pain to get the best of him. And Elena had ended up on the ground, jaw bruised with the shape of his hand.

"Shit," Stefan says to the empty car, slamming one hand on the dash in frustration. He'd never meant to hurt her. He _never _would have hurt her. Not until tonight, when Damon had gotten the best of him.

Breath comes faster, shallower, and Stefan feels his heart throbbing behind his eardrums like a metronome. How could he have let this happen? He has lost. He is alone. And all he has left is the empty boarding house back in Fell's Church, accusing looks from random townspeople, five fresh graves of Damon's poor victims. Matt, who secretly blames Stefan for the fact that Elena has apparently fled town. Bonnie, who cannot look at him without the suspicion that the five lost girls' blood is on his hands. Meredith, icy-cold Meredith, who hardly thinks twice about him anyways.

Never in five hundred years has he felt so alone. Not after Katherine. Not after waking up beside his brother in their family tomb, vampire blood in his veins. Not even those months ago, when Elena had died in his arms - at least _then, _she hadn't _wanted _to leave him.

His jaw clenches, eyes blur, and the wheels of his beloved sports car deviate three inches from the exact center of the lane. He can't _do this _on his own. Elena was the first thing that made him feel human, wanted, like maybe, just _maybe_, there was hope for him after all.

Without her…what the hell can he do?

Tears collect on his eyelashes, and he blinks them away, feeling the slow decent of warm saltwater on his cheeks. In the darkness of midnight, the road is already hard to see, and as sobs shake his shoulders like leaf caught in a hurricane, vision becomes impossible.

Hastily, he tries to wipe away the tears, tries to stop the shaking in his hands, in his chest, but he just can't help himself. For the first time in what seems like forever, Elena isn't here to pull the shattered pieces of his mind back together, isn't here to hold him tight and whisper meaningless nothings meant to soothe.

He is alone.

Achingly, painfully alone. Driving to a loveless home at three o'clock in the morning, with no one to wish him a safe trip, no one waiting for his return. Elena is Damon's, all Damon's - he saw it in her eyes, in her fierce protection of his brother, in the way she held so tenderly to Damon's hand after Stefan had finished tearing him to shreds.

And that - the way her fingers had intertwined so _easily _with Damon's - that hurts the most.

The tears fall faster now, leaving darker spots on his shirt, rolling down the apples of his cheek, off his jaw and the tip of his nose. His breath comes in gasps, catching jagged and sharp in his throat.

"What's happening to me?"

His whisper is swallowed up in the painful silence of the car, leaving him wondering if he ever really said anything at all.

A/N: Thanks everybody for the awesome reviews! Keep it up, please - it's very much appreciated!


	17. 16 Like A Virgin

A/N: Okay, so this is where I sort of earn the rating. I promise, it is not explicit, more like lemonade than a lemon, and the entire thing is very vague. However, this is your warning if that sort of thing weirds you out.

Also, song for this chapter is "Like a Virgin" by Madonna. I obviously do not own any such lyrics used in this chapter.

Enjoy!

"Elena?"

Elena sighs, lifts her cheek from Damon's bare chest to look at him, cocks her head to the side in a silent _what do you want _now_?_ He leaves her waiting for a moment, eyes locked, her slightly impatient but willing to wait, the babysitter indulging a child's antics. Then, finally -

"Hi," he says, cocky grin revealing killer teeth, waggling his fingers at her.

Elena huffs, burying her face in his chest again, eyes glued back to the TV at the foot of the bed. "You're a pain in the ass," she grumbles, but he can tell she doesn't mean it, can hear the smile in her voice.

He shifts his hips slightly underneath her, not obnoxiously but not _un_-obnoxious, either, pushing up until hipbone meets the soft cotton of her sweatpants, and Elena's heart skips a beat. "I could _literally _be a 'pain in the ass', baby." Cue mile-wide grin, extra shift of hips, arrogant eyebrow wiggle so she knows that he knows that she totally wants him.

"Shut _up_, Damon," she says, slapping his chest, half-hearted. "You made it very clear yesterday that you _certainly _aren't ready to brave any unfamiliar territory."

"What?"

"Hotel. Yesterday morning, after breakfast. Me, you, bed, naked. You _rejected _me. Ringing a bell?"

"Oh," Damon says, blushing as he remembers: that delicious skin-to-skin feeling, the sound of her breath, that catch in her lungs that _he _put there. Him with his cold hands and his inexperience, his awkward maneuvering of limbs, so out of place in that natural human dance known as _sex_. And…he hadn't been able to go through with it. She was so gorgeous and intimidating and experienced and _oh god_, he had never done _anything _like that before… "Right."

"_Oh_," Elena echoes, "_Right_. Glad you've decided to remember."

She slides off the bed, sauntering towards the floor length mirror to check herself out, leaving Damon alone in the pile of blankets and sheets, thinking. Could it really have been only a day ago? So much had happened since - Stefan, getting his ass kicked, Elena, Elena's _blood_, her body, sleeping with her last night, curled up like kittens. He hadn't worn a stitch of clothing for most of the night, not since he woke up at four complaining that 'clothes hurt'.

And now, he is still clothes-less and suddenly very frustrated. Now that he is not in a moment of decision, now that Elena is across the room and facing away from him, he can't think of what there was to be so afraid of. It's just sex. All the kids are doing it. Hell, Elena-the-Angel has certainly done it. He's heard rumors, whispers, seen all of Elena's ex-boyfriends stare as she walks past. If Elena can do it, it's no big deal. No big deal.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he lifts his head, looks to Elena, intending to tell her his epiphany just now, to tell her that if she wants him, she can very well have him, _all _of him, the pieces he's never given anyone else before.

But as his eyes focus on her; lace-edge camisole and baggy sweatpants, facing away from him towards the bathroom, he sees the out-of-place _wrongness _in her familiar silhouette. There is a slight shaking to those delicate shoulders, a trembling that makes his stomach drop and causes his heart to perform some serious drum-solo-type stunts. She is upset with him. Without realizing it, Damon has apparently pushed her away again, alienated her, his VIP, his favorite person, his plus-one. He is _always _messing things up.

"Shit," Damon mutters, then tries to get up while still maintaining a shred of dignity, clutching the comforter around his bare waist. In his haste to get to Elena, he stumbles over the blanket, a slew of stuttered curses leaking out on an angry breath as he trips, just barely catching himself. His momentum carries him forward, into Elena's back, and then she is turning around to face him, eyes glassy and red-rimmed, looking like the poster-child for an orphanage specializing in the most adorable - and most depressing - cases. That look makes him want to hold her, kiss her, and he does both. He gathers her up into his arms, chin resting on top of her pretty blonde hair, then tilts his head down to brush a kiss across her forehead.

After several silent moments, he realizes that his comforter has slipped, that _all _of him is pressed against her, cool vampire skin against sweatpants and lace. Every nerve is sparkly-new and alive, tingling as if he has never felt anything before. He feels like a newborn vampire confronted with fresh blood, like a baby crying out as it hits air for the first time. Like a teenage boy who has never held a girl.

Like…a virgin.

Madonna lyrics filter through his brain, mixing with the feel of Elena's skin as he runs his palms up her arms. His spayed fingers come to rest on either side of her neck, and he just looks at her: sparkly eyes and dewy eyelashes, a china doll to be held, cherished, protected. _Focus, Damon, focus_, he thinks. _Fix this._

"What's wrong?" he whispers, the question only half a question because he's pretty sure the answer has to do with him.

"It's just…yesterday, when we almost -" her voice breaks off, looking up at him, and he nods to say he understands. She takes a shaky breath, twining her arms around his back for something to hold onto. "…I've never felt like that before."

"Like what?" Damon breathes, drawing her closer, hands behind her neck, now, twined in her shimmering hair. Their mouths are almost touching. Just two centimeters, and he could close the distance. He wants to. God, how he wants to.

"Like I'd really do it," Elena says softly. "Like I'd let you…"

"Let me _what_, Elena?" Damon moves closer still, eyes on fire, more passionate and serious that he's ever been about _anything. _She's making him see things in a whole new way - love and this all-encompassing desire, the hatred between two brothers, rivalry, what it means to win. Because of her, he knows what it means to live for something so innocent as a kiss, understands that _blood _isn't the only thing worth sharing.

"Like I'd give you everything," Elena whispers, dropping her eyes, like this is shameful, like she is afraid to meet his gaze. "I've never wanted to, before. Not with Matt or Stefan or _anyone_…"

Damon stares at her, uncomprehending. Elena shifts her feet, glances between him and the floor, sighs quietly when she seems to have reached an unfavorable conclusion. Then, finally, she raises up on her tiptoes, mouth against his ear -

"I'm a virgin, Damon."

His entire world-view shatters. Damon stares blankly, struck dumb, and Elena, looking sheepish, falls back down to her normal height. His mind is fried. Elena, beautiful, sexy, all-the-boys-want-me _Elena_ is a virgin? Maybe sex _is _a big deal. Maybe it's a _very _big deal.

He suddenly feels very young and stupid and unprepared, like he has wandered on stage but forgotten all his lines. He just looks at Elena, thoughts rushing through his head like water, too fast for him to keep track of. _I could have done it, yesterday, could have been the first_. _She would have let me, me and not Stefan… I wonder what it's like, if it's the same for vampires. Have any other vampires _bothered _to do this sort of thing? _Probably not. Most certainly _not. _This goes against his nature, against the primal bloodlust and sharp white teeth, but he doesn't _care_, because something in the pit of his stomach wants more.

More friction. More contact. More _her_, pulling his attention a million different directions at once. The idea of her stretches out in his mind like a field of un-marked snow, pure and new and…temporary. She is like a brand-new white dress shirt before the stain, a dealership-fresh car that hasn't needed to be washed yet. He is a clumsy boy, breaking everything he touches. He is selfish, he is eager to ruin her. He always ruins _something_, and Elena is no exception. Already, he has tainted her with his black-velvet kisses and spider-web charm, drawn her in to his twisted storyline.

But…she still has that glow about her, and her aura is like a halo, pure gold and as fiercely beautiful as the sun. It's blinding him, now, as he leans forward more, just a millimeter.

His lips almost brush hers when he speaks. "You've never…"

"Never." Arms tighten around him, his bare skin tingles with the expectation of lightening.

"Not with Matt?"

Elena humors him, shakes her head.

"Not with…Stefan?"

"No. Never, Damon." She tilts her head just slightly, and her lips brush, feather-light, over his jaw. "It will just be _you_."

Her words sound like a promise.

And then they are kissing. Lips and tongue and teeth and everything, blistering-hot and he doesn't know who started it but he doesn't _care_. Her hands are on his chest, gently pushing, and he backs up how she wants, further and further backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed, bend, and they fall. She ends up between his splayed legs, her face level with his, and they both groan as a very important part of him lines up with the inseam of her sweatpants. The fact that he is naked while she is clothed hits him hard, excites him further, and he presses close to her, solid and _there _against the softness of her lower stomach.

"_God_," he murmurs, "Elena, I -"

She hushes him, then leans back. Before he has time to mourn the loss of contact, she pulls her thin camisole up and over her head.

_Holy sweet mother Mary_.

She leans forward, kisses him again, softly, suddenly shy as his hands learn the contours of her body, as his fingers become expert in the art of bra un-clasping. Eyes close, hearts race, he is nearly gasping for breath as her sweatpants find a new home on the floor. His head falls to her neck, and she smells the same as always - honeysuckle and rain, adrenaline, the delicious perfume of her blood… But there's something new, something deeper, animal-intense, something that he responds to on instinct, on some basic level that he'd forgotten he had. _Pheromones_, he thinks, breathing in at the pulse point of her neck, human instincts for once trumping the vampire ones. He maneuvers them so that he is on top of her, and her back arches up from the mattress, straining closer to him…

He's never felt so…alive…

And then, suddenly, they are matched up, _perfect_, him supporting himself with his elbows so he doesn't hurt her. There is a pause, a moment in which they could say no, _again_, back off.

"You're sure?" he whispers, voice strained with the effort of not giving in, legs shaking as he holds back the primal need to make his mate _his,_ to claim her in a way that no one else has before.

"Positive," Elena returns, a shaky-nervous smile lifting the edges of her lips.

"Okay," Damon says. His arms tremble in the realization that this is actually _happening_. Right here. Now. Elena. Him. "Okay." He holds his breath. Madonna's time-worn voice bounces around inside his ears, and he half-sings under his breath - "_Didn't know how lost I was until I found you_ -"

Elena laughs, cutting his - terrible - singing off with a sudden kiss. The mood lightens, arms tighten, they are both half-laughing half-kissing in the face of his ridiculousness, and then Elena breaks in, voice muffled in his neck -

"You make me bold."

Damon smiles against her cheek, then pulls back, just enough to attack her lips with his again, ravenous, unable to help himself, because this is _Elena_, Elena, who he's loved and lost and hurt, Elena, who has stuck with him through all his bullshit.

"I love you, Elena," he murmurs, serious.

"I love you, too."

Damon looks down at her, at the honest, straightforward cast of her face. Her eyes are crystal clear - no doubt, no evasions. Just honest-to-God fact, finally laid out bare. _She loves me. She loves me_.

He presses his forehead to hers, breathing heavy. It somehow doesn't surprise him that a drop of saltwater ends up tracing the edge of his nose before it falls to Elena's cheek. "Baby, that's all I've ever asked for."

Deep breaths. Hearts beating in tandem, racing, though the main event hasn't even begun.

Then, the final question, last call, last chance to back out, to maintain some scrap of innocence. "Ready?" Damon asks shakily.

"Yes."

A/N: Let me know what ya'll think :]


	18. 17 Homecoming

"I hate this town," Stefan mumbles to no one in particular, fingers clenched on the wheel of his once-beloved car. He can't even muster affection for the purr of the engine, for the feel of Italian leather under his fingertips. Nothing matters. Not after losing Elena.

The drive down main street feels like a funeral procession, like the last march of a defeated army. He is pathetic. He has lost. And for once in his life, he is the brother without someone to love. He'd forgotten what this felt like.

At a stop light, he glances at his cell phone. Still no call, no messages, the screen empty of any friendly reminders or alerts. Though, in all honesty, he had no right to expect anything less. How could he, after what he did to Damon?

_Damon_. The name cuts at him like a dozen tiny splinters, makes his heart stutter. He almost _killed _Damon. He almost became _that brother_, the killer, the unredeemable monster.

But even though he held off at the last minute, what does it really _matter_? Elena has still chosen Damon, is with Damon, and there is nothing Stefan can do about that. Nothing.

His phone vibrates in the cup holder before Stefan can become too immersed in self-pity. He jumps, freaks out a little bit, wrenches the phone up and presses it against his ear.

"Hello?"

"Stefan, thank god."

The voice on the other end isn't what Stefan wants, what he longs for. Isn't Elena. He slumps against the seat, defeated, depressed.

"Hey, Matt. What's going on?"

"We…we have a problem."

Stefan straightens, tenses his hands on the steering wheel, suddenly on the alert. He might hate Fell's Church at this moment, might wish with every drop of blood in his body that he had somewhere - _anywhere _- else to go home to. But this is still _his town_. His responsibility. His home. And he has human friends - Matt, Meredith, Bonnie, little Margret and Aunt Jenna - to protect.

"What sort of problem?" His voice is hard, fierce.

There is a deep breath over the phone. A girl's whisper in the background that he can almost - but not quite - make out. Then, finally - "Stefan…do you know where Elena is?"

Flinching, Stefan sets his jaw. When he speaks, he pronounces each word very carefully. "In Florida. With…Damon."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Stefan snaps, his voice coming out sharper than intended. But he doesn't _care _if his tone scares Matt, doesn't care that he sounds like a sore loser. He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to admit his failure. Saying it out loud makes it real. "Look, can you just tell me what the hell is going on?"

Another deep breath. Exchanged words in the background, static-altered voices that sound like Bonnie and Meredith. Matt clears his throat.

"There's a girl in town, who's claiming to be Elena. And she looks just like her, man. I almost believed -"

Stefan drops the phone.

His beloved sports car swerves, decelerates rapidly on the shoulder of the road as he slams on the breaks, nearly causing an accident with three other drivers. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Matt's voice over the phone, calling his name, scared. The car horn blaring as Stefan impulsively punches the center of the steering wheel. Blood pounding in his ears, breath becoming impossible, and all he can think is: _oh my god. _And: _holy shit. Holy fucking shit_.

There is no way. No way in hell.

_It can't be her_, Stefan convinces himself, trying to get his rapid breathing under control. _Can't be. She's dead. She's dead._

Slowly, actions controlled with five hundred years worth of economy of movement, he picks up the cell phone. Presses it civilly to his ear.

"Matt? You still there?"

"Yeah, you okay?"

"I'm fine." He jerks the steering wheel back towards the road, centers his car between the lane lines. Stepping on the accelerator, he smiles weakly to the phone. "I'm almost in town. And when I get there, we're going to track this girl down and find out what the deal is, okay?"

"Okay," Matt says, sounding relieved. "We're at Bonnie's place. I'm…glad you're back, Stefan." The reason for his return fills the silence for a moment, an uncomfortable truth. Matt seems like he wants to say something, ask something, but Stefan's silence seems to discourage him, and he merely coughs. "I mean, it's been hell here without you. When you're gone, the girls look to me for protection, and well - you know I'm no superman."

"Well, you got the Clark Kent side down, at least," Stefan says, even manages a weak smile.

"Thanks, bro."

"No problem."

More pleasantries are exchanged, meaningless when and where and how's. They skim over conversation that means anything, don't speak about Elena or this mysterious girl who has her face. And for that, Stefan is grateful.

He hangs up the phone three minutes later.

Looks up just in time to see the sign on the side of the road: _Welcome to Historic Fell's Church._

He pulls over again, right in front of that god-forsaken sign. Engine idling, head falling hard, forehead slamming into the steering wheel.

And for what seems like the millionth time in ten hours, Stefan cries.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews :] They've been lovely. Glad you guys are enjoying the story! Pleassse continue to leave feedback. It makes my day :]


	19. 18 After

A/N: Hey :] More Damon/Elena interaction in this chapter…hope you like it!

When Damon wakes up, it is to the fading light of late afternoon, golden hair in his face, and a very skilled mouth tracing the curve of his throat. He sighs, arches his back, lets out a quiet _mmm_ that Elena takes as encouragement. She nips at his carotid artery with just the very edges of her teeth, and Damon's heart is practically beating its way through his chest.

"I could get used to this," he says out loud, and Elena's lips curve into a smile against his skin, even as her tongue darts out to trace the pale blue veins of his neck. He trembles, pushes himself more firmly against her, silently begging for more, for her never to stop…

His breath races, pulse sky-rockets, and though he literally _just _woke up and his brain is still hazy with sleep, his body responds like a well-tuned piano. Elena knows exactly which keys to hit. _Now_, a brush of her hands across his tense stomach, dangerously close to where he wants her touch the most, but not _quite _reaching there. An angling of her head, _just so_, and then she is kissing the corner of his mouth, his lips, tongue tracing the bottom one and -

Elena pulls away, smiling a teasing little smirk as she bounds off the bed, practically prancing over to the bathroom. Leaving him stunned and shell-shocked on the bed, wondering how on earth he let her get away.

"What the _fuck_, girl?" Damon whines, rolling over in bed so he can look at her. Her, Elena, not a stitch on her, standing so confidently across the room, leaning against the doorjamb to the bathroom. He _wants _to be a gentleman, he really does, but with her standing there, all come-hither and full of un-Elena-ish sex-kitten attitude, he can't help his eyes from wandering. She only smirks.

"If you want me, come _get _me," she murmurs, crooking one finger.

Like an obedient puppy, he is at her side in half-a-second.

"Yes ma'am." Fake salute. Arrogant smile. Heat coiling in his stomach, and he wants to reach out, hold her, touch her, _anything_ -

And then her mouth is wiping away his cocky grin. Hands in hair. Skin against skin against the rippled glass of the shower door. Tips of tongues touching and _God, never stop, just hold me here, forever_.

"In the shower," Elena orders, pushing him into the stall, climbing in after him, bodies brushing in the limited space.

"Really?" Damon grins, "We're playing the _hotel-shower_ card already? Are you really that desperate to have me again?"

"Yeah," Elena states, reaching behind him to turn on the shower. A sudden cascade of hot water hits both of them, steam instantly filling the bathroom, making everything seem hazy, slow, delicious. The heat and the enclosed space heightens the smell of Elena's blood, her skin, the honeysuckle perfume, and he's drowning, drowning… And he likes it.

Then, unexpected, her hand is on his shoulder, pushing gently down. He looks at her, confused, but she only smiles wider, kisses his cheek, then puts her lips to his ear.

When she speaks, the calm confidence and authority in her voice shoot through him, fire skating through his veins like a brushfire in a drought: "On your knees, baby. Show me just how much you _love me_."

Damon is far more than willing to oblige.

….

Half an hour later, they are in bed, _again_, wrapped up in sheets and in each other, him propped up against the headboard with her between his legs. The TV is on - something along the lines of Never Been Kissed - but neither of them are watching. Damon is far more concerned with Elena and the shower-wet golden hair he's working through with a comb. And Elena is tracing her fingers across his once-sprained ankle, applying pressure, waiting for a flinch from him that will not come.

He brushes a kiss across the back of her neck. "It doesn't hurt."

"What about your arm?"

Deliberately, he stretches his arm out in front of her, twists around, hugs her tight from behind to demonstrate. "I'm fine, baby. Plus, if my arms were working at half-operating-capacity, do you really think I would have been able to do -" he coughs out a laugh "- well, you know. That one thing with the -"

Elena giggles, cutting him off with a soft slap on his bare leg. Damon only grins, getting back to work on her hair. His smile feels impossibly wide, almost like his face should break in half from the sheer love-drunk-happiness of this smile. Vaguely, he wonders when he turned into _this guy_, watching some cheesy romance on TV, curled up in bed like some love-sick puppy, brushing out his girl's hair. He is completely, one hundred percent whipped. Strangely, it doesn't bother him like he thought it would, once.

"I could get used to this," Elena echoes his words from earlier, tilting her head back onto his chest. He leans in, kissing her forehead upside down.

"Me too."

The silence is comfortable for a while, him brushing out her hair, her rubbing circles in the inside crook of his knee, where the hardness of muscle gives way to a soft spot of sensitive skin. It tickles. It makes him want her. _Again_.

"I feel like a seventeen-year-old boy," Damon says, breaking the silence, smoothing her hair.

"How so?" Elena teases. She shifts in his lap, pretending like this is innocent, merely her getting comfortable, but Damon knows better. Knows this playful version of Elena better. Despite her innocence and angelic tendencies out in public, behind closed doors she is…something else. Something that appeals to the darker vein in his heart, something that makes his long-forgotten human instincts jump to the forefront of his mind.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Damon growls.

Her comb falls, forgotten, and his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, closer, into the hard muscles of his chest. He buries his face in her neck, kisses along the pale blue veins, feeling her pulse in his mouth, in his hands, skittering across his skin like something sentient, something that knows exactly how to get him hot.

"Yes," Elena smiles. It is intended - and taken - as a challenge.

Faster than light, quicker than Elena can even comprehend, Damon is on top of her, knees on either side of her tiny waist, hands pressed into the mattress next to her head. Her breath comes heavier, chest heaving against the ivory satin of her nightgown.

"I feel like a teenager," Damon grins, "because of _this _-" he lets his lower half insinuate with hers, lets her feel the strain of black boxers. "- and because I don't even _care _about your blood right now."

To prove his last point, he leans down, kisses her neck, feels the delicious pulse of her heart. But his canine teeth remain their normal length, and his eyes stay focused, human, darkened only with passion, with lust.

Elena lets out a cute little squeak that is terribly endearing. He smiles gently, draws her into a kiss that has her arching her back, biting his lip, pulling on his hair.

"I've never really thought about sex," Damon says, mouth against her ear. Then sliding forward, lips on her jaw. "Never had to. But today…"

Her eyes snap open, focus on his.

"Today was life-changing. A goddamn spiritual experience. I've never felt so loved or special or _anything _before. It's like my heart's beating for the first time and I -" He breaks off, kisses her cheek. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you so much."

They both know he's talking about more than just sex. It's everything that goes with it, it's the fact that she loves him, accepts him, despite all his flaws, despite everything that's happened. She makes him feel human. Alive. Like he doesn't have to be perfect to be loved. Like he's wonderful, just the way that he is.

Even in his head, it sounds hokey, something that the Pre-Elena Damon would never have thought, let alone said. But he doesn't care, because it's true.

"Damon," Elena murmurs, both of her hands reaching to hold his face in her palms. He leans shamelessly into her touch. "Thank _you_. You're showing me that I don't have to be the 'Angel' all the time. That it's okay to let go. I've never been more vulnerable with anyone - I trust you more than anything." She nuzzles her nose into his throat, and when she speaks, it's muffled against his skin - "Let me keep you. Don't leave. Ever."

Damon chuckles, arms tightening around her, face in her hair. "Be careful what you ask for. I might just stick around."

"Please do."

"You're making a dangerous request."

Elena smiles. "Am I?"

"Yep. See, I've figured something out - sex is apparently like superglue to vampires." Carefully, he maneuvers her out of her nightgown, lays her hair out across the pillow so it doesn't dry weird. She slides his boxers down his hips with the tips of her fingers, then uses her toes to peel off his socks.

"Superglue?"

"Mmm. I think maybe it's like a bird's imprinting instinct. Like I'll only ever want to be with _you_."

"I'm okay with that," Elena grins.

It is quiet for a while, save the sound of their breathing, the rapid beating of hearts, the slide of skin on skin and legs on sheets. Moments seem so slow, drawing out so that every second feels like an eternity. He never wants to stop, never wants to let her go. He feels like she is an integral part of him, as necessary as his heart or his lungs or the blood in his veins. _Her _blood in his veins.

"Are we lovers, now?" Elena asks suddenly, scratching her nails up the length of his back, fingertips brushing across hard muscle and the sharp ridges of shoulder blades.

"I think that to be lovers, we have to get into the double digits," Damon says sagely, smiling one of those irresistible smiles.

"Well," Elena grins, pulling him closer, chests touching, foreheads pressed together, "I guess we should get counting."

A/N: Thanks again for reading. Please review! :]


	20. 19 The Home Front

By the time Stefan pulls into Matt's driveway, he is a jittery ball of nerves, coiled so tight that his fingers are drumming nervous beats across the steering wheel, feeling like the small movement is at least _something _to do. And the feeling that he is _doing something _is all that's keeping him from teetering over the edge.

Katherine. _Katherine _might be in Fell's Church. Well, at least someone who looks like her.  
Putting the car in park, Stefan shakes his head sharply. _Snap out of it._ Everything's fine. He has no reason to believe that this…this Elena-Doppelganger has anything to do with his dead, vampire ex-girlfriend. He watched Elena shove Katherine into that ray of light in the tomb under the old church. Watched Katherine burn in the sun, watched the expression leave her eyes as the light tore her face from the inside out… She's dead. And not the garden-variety dead of him and other vampires. She's _dead _dead. The kind you don't come back from. He has no reason to freak out.

Slowly, careful, Stefan gets out, walks the fifteen steps up the drive to Matt's front door. He knocks, three short raps of his knuckles on the doorframe.

"Matt?" He calls through the screen, peering into the shadowed house. "Hey, bud, it's me. Stefan."

A few theoretical beats of his dead heart pass, and then the door swings open, and a blur of pale skin and fire-red curls flies at him, girlishly strong arms latching around his neck.

"_Stefan!_" Bonnie squeals, her high voice muffled somewhere in his collarbone, and Stefan relaxes out of the shock of her sudden attack, hugging her back. It strikes him how easily his arms fit around her waist, and he's never realized properly just how _warm _Bonnie is…

"Ahem." Matt's pointed throat-clearing jolts Stefan out of his stupor, and he abruptly lets go of Bonnie, ducking out of her arms on the pretense of getting a better look at her. As Bonnie titters on about various things - _Ohmigosh Stefan you look so pale! Come inside and sit by the heater…when was the last time you hunted?_ - Stefan locks eyes with Matt's wide baby blues.

A moment of silent man-to-man communication passes between them. Matt is claiming Bonnie. Stefan is respecting that claim. And both of them acknowledge the shared heartache between them - Elena has destroyed them both. Matt is sympathetic, perhaps the only person who can truly empathize. They are the same, now. Elena left each of them for someone far, far worse.

Lost in thought, but still nodding and _uh huh_-ing along with Bonnie, Stefan lets himself be led inside by the elbow.

In the sun-yellow kitchen, Meredith sits, prim-and-proper as always, legs crossed at the ankles like a debutant. At Bonnie's excited tittering, she looks up, dark hair framing her face.

Meredith looks at Stefan. Stefan looks at Meredith. Time pauses for a moment as her eyes rake over him, and he self-consciously recalls every flaw of his appearance - semi-rumpled clothes, dirt still under his fingernails from his fight in the forest, dark circles that speak of sleepless nights and not enough to drink. He fidgets, pulls on the edge of his sweater. Prays to God that he managed to wash off all Damon's blood back in the gas station bathroom.

Finally, Meredith's sharp eyes soften, and she holds her arms out to him with a slight but friendly smile - _it's okay, everything's good here_ - and feeling like he's passed some sort of unspoken test, Stefan steps forward. Hesitant, conscious - always - of his hard vampire skin and threatening strength, he moves closer, letting himself be pulled into her embrace.

_Warm_. Physically warm and soft and pliable, like Bonnie, but there's also a different sort of heat there - friendship, maybe, affection, something that tightens his throat and makes his eyes sting. In a fraction of a second, he finds himself relaxing into her, wrapping his arms tight around her small but solid waist. He turns his face into her neck, feeling her soft sweep of hair tickle his cheek…her hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, holding him to her gently…

Being held like this, after everything…

It's just too much.

_Elena_. Elena's hair, skin, eyelashes, cheek, carotid artery. Every piece of her burns in his memory like a firecracker, blinding his eyes to anything other than her. Just her.

"Oh, shush, honey, shush," Meredith is saying suddenly, fingers stroking his hair from the crown of his head to the back of his neck, soothingly slow, sweet, making him feel so very painfully taken-care-of and looked-after. "It's okay. I promise. Everything's fine."

"I - I'm -" _I'm okay. I'm fine. Really, I'm so perfectly okay right now, don't worry about anything. I'm Stefan Salvatore, for God's sake. Everything is alright. I'm here to save you, I -_

His voice breaks on a sob.

"Oh, _Stefan_. Don't cry!" Bonnie squeals. And then she is in on the hugging and hair-stroking, patting him on the back like his is a baby, and he's only crying harder, damn it, because all this affection is too much to handle. Especially from Elena's best friends. Especially now, so guilty and condemned after the near-murder of his brother…

His tears stain Meredith's pretty shirt and he's thinking - _God I'm such a baby_ - but he can't stop. Won't stop. He seems stuck in the stage of grief that involves what might possibly be gallons of tears and more emotional breakdowns than a teenage girl.

Thinking is only making it worse.

So Stefan shuts his brain off, gives in, lets his girls take care of him, even though he doesn't deserve it.

Matt's hand squeezes his shoulder as Meredith and Bonnie flutter around gathering various items for what appears to be the girl-version of a therapy session.

"Sucks, man, I know," Matt mutters under his breath. "It gets better, I promise."

Stefan is feeling too apathetic to answer the way he wants to, so instead he just nods, pretending like vampires just _get better _after something like this. He is _not _Matt, he isn't the same species. Matt is young, Matt will grow up and change and go to college and cast his line in an entire ocean of pretty young fishes. But Stefan… Stefan is stuck, unchanged and unchangeable, no room for growth or experimentation or hope to find a different girl that could ever possibly appeal to him more than Elena, his perfect mate. He loves Elena. That's it. From now until forever. Amen.

Somehow, he ends up steered upstairs, though he hardly remembers moving through the rest of the house or telling his feet to set one in front of the other. The girls wedge him in between them, leaning up against the headboard of Matt's bed with their feet tucked up under their legs. Meredith's arm stays around his shoulder, and Stefan leans his head into her arm shamelessly.

As it turns out, the girl's version of therapy is actually very enjoyable and, indeed, therapeutic. Radio turned on low, Matt's bedroom fan aimed directly at Stefan and set to high., a cold wet washcloth that Bonnie keeps pressing against his face, and - best of all - an entire quart of chocolate ice cream.  
Ten minutes later, Stefan is operating basic functions, running on his internal back-up generator system, but functioning nonetheless. Matt sits at the foot of the bed, facing Stefan and the girls, alert and ready to give the full briefing on the situation at hand.

"You better, man?" He asks cautiously, eyeing Stefan critically, as though if he looks hard enough, he will be able to examine Stefan's most minute mental functioning and determine whether he is, actually, 'better'.

"Yeah, I'm good," Stefan says, his voice steady, even, exuding a tired sort of confidence that makes him sound embarrassingly damaged.

"Good," Matt says absently, looking at a hole in the navy blue comforter. Then - "Good. Right," more focused, looking up and connecting through his eyes, communicating serious business. "So. About the El -" he catches himself just in time "- the - um…imposter girl."

"Right," Stefan says, trying to remain unruffled by the almost-mention of Elena's name. "Yeah. Okay. Tell me about it."

"Well, after you skipped town - without telling anyone what was up, mind you - I was worried about Elena. You know, I thought maybe you and her…" he trails off into silence for a few moments, not quite meeting Stefan's eyes. "Anyway, I went to the boarding house. Mrs. Flowers let me in, saying that she didn't know where you'd went, only that Elena came home about two hours after you left." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "So, 'course, I went upstairs to see her. She was sitting on your bed, you know, all innocent in her little nightgown. We had a talk, and she told me about Damon and those girls from our school. Said you were after him."

The room seems colder for a second. Meredith tightens her arm around Stefan's shoulders in a short, staccato squeeze that makes his muscles relax, just a bit. Finding his voice, Stefan addresses Matt - "And then what?"

"Then I left," Matt said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wait," Stefan said, raising his eyebrows incredulously. "What made you realize she wasn't the real -" he trips over her name for a moment "- that she wasn't Elena?"

At the same moment, everyone's eyes shift uneasily away from Stefan. He glances over each guilty face – Meredith's downcast, shamed eyes, Bonnie's childlike nervousness, the tense, pained set of Matt's jaw. No one says a word. Nervous, Stefan stiffens up again, this time impervious to Meredith's calming hand rubbing circles into his collarbone.

"Someone say something," he says desperately. "I've been through a lot recently – I really don't think I can handle any more anxiety right now."

Matt's voice is shaky when he speaks, breath coming unevenly, looking up at Stefan from under transparently blonde lashes. "I could tell that it wasn't Elena…" He breaks off, wincing on her name. "I could tell it wasn't her because she talked about Damon like -"

"Like what?" Stefan asks, breathless.

"Like she didn't care about him. Like she thought he was a monster. Like he deserved whatever he got." Matt shakes his head, finally meeting Stefan's gaze with a timeless sadness. "And I think we all know – the real Elena doesn't feel that way."

Stefan turned his face into Meredith's sleeve. He had no way of knowing that at that precise moment, roughly seven hundred miles away, Elena was curled up in bed in a hotel room with Damon Salvatore, head on his chest. He had no way of knowing that the blood in her veins wasn't hers. No way of knowing the happiness coursing through Damon like a drug.

And none of them – not even Damon, lounging confidently in bed with his reason for existence – had any way of knowing that in less that twenty-four hours, Elena Gilbert would be dead.

Author Note:

Wow…..it's been so long! I apologize profusely to any remaining readers I may have! Please please please comment; I'd very much enjoy a warm welcome back into the fanfiction world! Love you guys!

Xoxo, Sam


	21. 20 Addiction

"Clothes – that's what we need," Damon says, tapping Elena on the tip of her nose with his pointer finger, sporting an overenthusiastic smile that makes him feel like a real boy. This is what it means to be human. Here, right here, tucked into bed with his girl, watching _Friends _re-runs and feeling his heart race under her hands like a hummingbird.

"_Clothes?_" Elena groans, stretching luxuriously. The comforter slides a few more inches down her bare chest, and Damon bites his lip. Elena notices, which of course only makes her smile wider, taking advantage of the effect that her body has on him. "Why on earth do we need _clothes_?"

"Well, for one thing, we're almost _out _of clothes. Seriously. Unless you want to do some laundry in a creek somewhere, we need to buy some basics."

Elena rolls over onto her stomach, legs crossed in the air, looking up at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, like an adult indulging a child's antics. "You know there's, like, Laundromats, right? And hotel room service? And -"

Damon cuts her off with a swift, darting kiss, pressing his lips chastely to hers to shut her up. Pulling back by inches, he ducks down and nuzzles his nose into her collarbone. "Baby. Come on. I just want an excuse to watch you try on lingerie. Is that such a crime?"

"Not a crime," Elena giggles, arching her back up into his touch, tangling her fingers in his hair; she scratches at the back of his neck with her nails, makes him shiver. "In fact, let's go do that." Crawling over him and jumping out of bed with a surprising burst of energy, Elena whips around the room, gathering up belongings, shoving dirty clothes into their duffle bag and tossing a black t-shirt at him, followed by jeans. Damon just stares after her, dumbstruck for a moment, watching the curve of her slim waist as she moves, loving how completely comfortable she is being naked in front of him. There's a vulnerability in it, a deep trust that makes him feel a sort of awkwardly wonderful warmth in his chest. _Deep breaths, Damon_, he thinks, inhaling slowly. _All this love and romance stuff is gonna take a little while to get used to._ "Damon," Elena laughs from across the room as she fastens her blood-red bra behind her back, "snap out of it and get ready!"

"Yes, yeah, sorry," he says, smiling distractedly, climbing laboriously out of bed and pulling on his shirt. He is about to zip his jeans when he realizes – "Boxers?"

"No boxers," Elena smirks, wicked, cocking one eyebrow up in challenge.

He is across the room and in front of her in less time than it would take an average person to blink. Elena just barely reins in her surprise at his sudden proximity, and Damon grins hugely, stealing the scrap of fabric she was about to pull on. Tucking it into his jeans pocket, he flashes that seductive, smoldering-eyes thing that usually bends her to his every will. "Fine, but no panties."

"Sounds like a deal." Her voice is dark and sweet, like bitter chocolate – perfect. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she draws him into a merciless kiss, soft and smooth and just so _Elena _that he lifts her up off her feet, arms tight around her waist. "Love you," she whispers against his lips.

"Love you, too," he says, pulling back slightly, looking down at her with half-closed eyes. Blinking lazily, he smiles a sloppy smile at her, tucking her golden hair behind her ear, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. "But if we want to get on the road at some point in the foreseeable future, I think we'd better stop with the suggestive glances and kissing and stuff."

Elena overacts a sigh, taking a big step back, glancing at him shyly from under her eyelashes, suddenly reverting to that innocent, timid girl that she puts out in public. He likes that – likes that he's the only one who can see that sexy, uninhibited side of her that makes his blood turn to fire in his veins.

" Maybe," she says with a slight smile that makes him want to pull her back into bed.

_Focus, Damon_, he thinks, wondering what on earth is happening to him. Seriously, a day ago, he was an inexperienced, five-hundred-year-old teenage boy. He'd never thought that there was anything physically intriguing about a woman other than her blood. But now – now he can hardly keep his hands to himself. He's a slave to his instincts, driven by hormones, pulled in by whatever magical _something _about Elena that drives him crazy. It's ridiculous.

"Damn," he says as he and Elena finally make their way out to his car, hand in hand, stepping in tandem across the sun-baked black-top. "This whole _sex _thing changes stuff, doesn't it?"

Elena laughs out loud, a happy, carefree laugh that he hopes he can hear for the rest of eternity. "I'd say so."

"Seriously. It's craziness," he continues, helping her into the car and reappearing at the driver's side, sliding into the leather seat, automatically reaching for Elena's hand after he starts the car. "It's like – I look at you, and I see two people. Innocent, adorable Elena that I want to show off to all my friends (you know, if I had any) – and sexy, delicious Elena that I want to – well, you get the idea."

Elena smiles at him, squeezing his hand. A few moments pass in silence as he pulls out of the hotel parking lot and maneuvers onto the thruway. Suddenly, she speaks up again, serious. "What happened to the blood-filled, easily-taken-advantage-of Elena that you used to want to bleed dry?" Her words attempt to be offhand, but he can hear the real insecurity behind her words, the uncertainty still clinging to the edges of her mind despite everything that's happened between them.

"I don't see her anymore," Damon says quietly, rubbing the back of her hand. "I promise."

Elena blushes and looks away, but not before he sees the pleased smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

Grinning, Damon leans back in his seat, relaxed and utterly at ease. He is on top of the world. He is so happy it's almost unbearable. He has Elena, a CD of great music, the open road. Sex and sugar-sweet kisses and the prospect of getting to see Elena try on wonderfully revealing lingerie in the near future.

Life, for the first time in five hundred years, is good.

Author Note: Hmmm, two updates in two days? Have I redeemed myself for my long absence yet? Hehe. Read and review, please. It makes my day, lovelies!

Xoxo, Sam


	22. 21 Let's Get Down to Business

"Okay. So. This is how this is gonna work," Matt says with what appears to be his best approximation of authority, rocking back and forth on his toes in front of Meredith and Bonnie. Stefan, huddled under blankets in the corner of the couch, sipping on a bag of calf's blood from the butchers, looks on objectively, apathetic. _Let the human kid take the lead, _he thinks to himself, taking another long drag on the bendy straw he has tucked in through the top of the plastic bag. A _bendy _straw. A _pink _bendy straw. Imagining what Damon would say brings a fleeting smile to Stefan's face. And then he remembers what Damon's done. The smile disappears as quickly as it came on.

"We're going to drive to the boarding house. Stefan will act as bait-" Matt pauses, half-awkward, glancing at Stefan apologetically, and Stefan just shrugs "-and lure the, ahem – El – _imposter _out of the house."

"And _how_ exactly is he going to lure her out?" Bonnie questions absently, painting her nails a dark blood-red that – when Stefan had the nerve to ask – she said helped her get in the 'witchcraft vibe', whatever the hell that meant. Beside her, Meredith sits quietly, shooting glances over at Stefan every so often. Or maybe that's just wistful thinking.

"Well, since the Elena-Imposter doesn't _know _that we know that she's well, yaknow, an imposter, then we can pretend like Stefan thinks she's Elena. He'll just act like nothing's wrong, work his manly charms, and then ask her to accompany him to the Grill. While that's happening, you, me and Meredith search the boarding house and get whatever it is that Bonnie needs for her witchy stuff." He pauses, claps his hands together like a quarterback before a homecoming game, just finished with his pep talk. "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Stefan says sarcastically, raising his hand.

"Um, Stefan?" Matt asks uncertainly.

"Uh-huh. So, this plan is fine and dandy and all, but how are you expecting me to _lie_?"

"To lie about what?"

"Elena. To lie about _fucking Elena_," Stefan growls. He's less passive now, clenched up under his blanket, trying hard to keep from tearing into the bag of calves' blood, just for something to do with his teeth. "To pretend like I don't want to scream at her. Never look at her again. Tear her fucking heart out-"

Warm hand on his wrist, calming. Familiar heartbeat. "Stefan," Meredith murmurs, a hint of a warning in her voice.

He takes a deep breath, relaxes ever-so-slightly. "Whatever, man," he says, finally, looking away from Matt. "Just…never mind. Sorry I'm so…wired lately."

"Er, um, no problem," Matt says awkwardly. After a moment, he clears his throat, turning back to the girls. "Anyways, um…when do you guys wanna get this show on the road?"

"After lunch," Bonnie says, not looking up from her nails. "I need time for these beauties to dry."

Matt rolls his eyes, smiling indulgently. "Baby, we're making plans to lure out and investigate a hostile vampire bitch who might possibly want each of us dead, and you're worrying about your _nail polish?_"

"I provide comic relief to counteract over-the-top plot dreariness," Bonnie laughs, her good humor so catching that Stefan can't help smiling. A moment of happy silence passes, and then – "Wait, Matty, do my ears deceive me, or did you just call me _baby_?"

Instantly, Matt's face floods with a ridiculous blush. "What? No. I mean, yes – I mean…what is the correct answer? Look, Bon, I – er –"

Thankfully, Bonnie puts him out of his misery, screwing the top of her nail polish back into place, jumping up from the couch, and flouncing over to Matt, kissing him on his blood-red cheek with a girlish giggle. "_Yes_ is the correct answer, honey." And with that, she skips into the kitchen, leaving Matt standing in the middle of the room, stunned and looking infinitely pleased at his good fortune. Meredith hides her laughter in Stefan's shoulder, and Stefan just smiles and looks away, warring between feeling happy for his friend and jealous that he no longer has someone to care for him in that way. "Kiddies, what do you want for lunch?" Bonnie sings out from the other room.

"Mac and cheese," Matt tries to say, but his voice comes out squeaky (he is still, apparently, in shock over having been kissed by his best-friend-since-kindergarten). What it sounds like is – "Meh-n-ease?"

"What was that?" Bonnie calls.

"He wants a big helping of _you _with whipped cream on top!" Meredith manages through her laughter.

"Well, if that's what he wants, he better get in this kitchen in approximately five seconds!"

Matt is gone so fast he practically dematerializes from the spot.

And then it's just the two of them. Stefan and Meredith. She's sitting closer than he'd really thought, their legs pressed together, and he feels something, a subtle, nagging _something_ in the pit of his stomach. But he ignores it, presses the feeling down, because he's in love with Elena, he wants no one else but Elena, he will spend the rest of eternity pining over _Elena…_right?

Shaking his head to clear it, Stefan turns to look at Meredith, opening his mouth to make a remark about the weather, or maybe apologize for his random outbursts of depression/anxiety/rage, but she beats him to speaking. Without looking up at him, she says something he never would have expected. Never. "I think it's better this way, you know," she murmurs, almost too quietly for human hearing.

"Think _what's_ better?"

"You. Without her," Meredith says timidly, looking his direction as though she is afraid of his reaction. When he doesn't speak, she continues. "I mean, the reason you wanted her is because she's everything Katherine wasn't, right?"

Valid point. Stefan nods gingerly, and Meredith finds the nerve to keep talking, gaining momentum as though his agreement is all she needed to finally speak her mind. "And so, if you want her because she's the opposite of what hurt you in the past, isn't that you just trying to avoid pain? Playing it safe? That's rolling over, Stefan, because what you should look for is what you _want, _not just the opposite of what you don't want, you know what I mean?" He doesn't answer. Meredith looks away, shamefaced, at her hands in her lap. "I don't know if that made any sense. And I'm sorry if I've offended you. I've just been thinking about it for so long and I –"

"You've thought of me?" Is all Stefan asks. "For a long time?"

Meredith sighs. "You're an emotionally damaged vampire who showed up in my town one day being all mysterious and charming and whatnot. Of course I _think about you_, you insufferable idiot."

A moment passes. "_Emotionally damaged?_ Really? Do I give off that vibe?"

Meredith just laughs, grabbing his hand and pulling him off the couch. Her hand is cooler than Elena's, thinner, with a ring on the right fourth finger that feels unfamiliar in the way that it lines up with the space between his middle and ring fingers. Odd. The only two women whose hand's he's ever held were Katherine and Elena – who, for all intents and purposes, felt exactly the same. It's different, but there's that nagging _something _in the pit of his stomach again, and a sudden, fleeting thought passes through as quickly as a snowflake melting on a cheek. _I could be happy again_.

Feeling suddenly hopeful, Stefan lets Meredith lead him through the house. Past the kitchen where Matt and Bonnie are flirting over a pot of boiling water, through the hallway where pictures of Meredith, Bonnie, Matt and Elena at various ages hang, time-frozen and forever young. Out the front door.

"Where are we going?" Stefan asks, not thinking for a second to pull his hand out of her grip. Not even considering turning around. For the first time in two days, he doesn't want to be alone with his misery. In fact, he's losing some of the desire to be _miserable _at all.

"I want to show you something," Meredith says bluntly, turning to face him with a pretty smile. "Before, you know, the business with Elena-doppelganger and all that."

"Okay," Stefan says slowly. "But where?"

Meredith just grins. "Close your eyes." He obliges, and she squeezes his hand tighter. "Now, follow me."

Having no vision does not affect vampires like it affects humans. Stefan's heightened sense of direction, equilibrium, smell, and hearing allowing him practically every advantage that sight does, just in a different way. Meredith, however, does not appear to be privy to this fact, and Stefan doesn't tell her, letting her keep her illusion of leading him, as it seems to make her happy.

Across the front yard, then a quarter-turn left, across the back lawn. The smell of dew and fresh-mown grass make Stefan feel nostalgic, remind him of summers when he was young. The feel of the ground changes, and he knows they've crossed over the barrier of the forest edge, and Meredith walks slowly so as not to lose her footing, holding tighter to Stefan's hand at times to keep from slipping. The increased speed of her heartbeat suddenly lets Stefan know they've reached their destination. Without asking, he opens his eyes –

And sees nothing but a completely normal section of wood. They stand, together, in a copse of young aspen trees, Meredith smiling widely, Stefan looking around in confusion for a few moments.

"Um, Meredith?"

"Hmm?

"What are we –"

Gently, she puts a finger under his chin, tilts his head. "Look up."

He looks. Two feet above his head, carved into the thin trunk of the aspen tree, he sees it. A rudimentary heart, the initials _M.H_. and _E.G._ inside it. Matt Honeycutt and Elena Gilbert. And slightly above that, _Meredith and Jay 4ever_. On the next tree, slightly higher, so that if Stefan reached, he'd only be able to brush it with his fingertips – _Bonnie + Tyler._

"Things change, Stefan," Meredith tells him. "These trees were once my height. People love and lose and move on. It's human nature."

His vision's getting blurry. Cheeks flushing hot, he looks away, not wanting her to see him in his moment of weakness. "I'm not human, I'm a vampire. We don't just…_get over _things, Meredith," he says quietly. "I _can't _change. I'm a five-hundred-year-old man."

Her hand on his chest, burning through his thin shirt. "With the heart of a teenager."

And Stefan can't help himself – he layers his thin fingers over hers, holding her hand close for a moment. A for that moment, for a single, freeze-frame second of time, Stefan thinks – _maybe everything will be okay._

A/N: I'm bacccck! :] Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated. (Also, leave a comment if you're into the idea of possibly having some Stefan/Meredith in the future! Love always, Sam.


	23. 22 Snap

A/N: Okay, whoa, long chapter ahead. Also, GET EXCITED. Due to a number of half-joking complaints about the not-very-lemony nature of my Delena scenes, I have made this chapter significantly more…interesting than the previous ones. I very much hope you enjoy. ;]

P.S: Oh, and a warning – kind of a lottt of profanity in this chapter… So sorry, you know how Damon gets. :P

Elena's POV:

They are in the drive-thru lane for Starbucks when Elena's cell phone buzzes in the cup holder. She checks the caller ID – _Matt Honeycutt _– looks over at Damon. He's lounging, slouched in his seat, one arm out the open window, the other wrist dangling lazily over the steering wheel, his perfect fingers twitching in front of the speedometer. He's wearing black leather, even in the Virginia heat, big black boots, and dark Ray Bans with heavy red frames. Elena spaces out for a second, his look reminding her of Brad Pitt in _Fight Club_. God, he's gorgeous –

"'Lena, answer your phone, sweetheart," he says, shooting her a killer smile, lowering his glasses for a second to look at her with soft eyes that grant permission.

"Oh, yeah," she says, sliding the call bar and lifting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Elena," a girl's voice chirps.

"Bonnie?"

"Yeah, it's me. Hey, hi, how are you, glad you're alive, blah blah blah, etcetera. Alright, now I know you're probably enjoying your little honeymoon thing with Damon, but you have to come home. Today. At least for a little bit, and hopefully you can solve our little problem up here, and after everything's taken care of, no one will stop you from gallivanting off into the sunset with Mr. Badass –"

"Wait, Bonnie, slow down," Elena manages to cut in after a few seconds of Bonnie's high-pitched monologue. "What are you talking about? What's going on in Mystic Falls?" In her peripheral vision, she sees Damon's posture change, his back straightening ever-so-slightly, his other hand moving back to the wheel, fingers tightening around the leather like he's bracing for something. Elena instinctively reaches over, stroking his shoulder until he relaxes a fraction of an inch.

Three minutes, forty-two seconds later, Bonnie has explained everything over speakerphone, two iced butter-toffee lattes (with whipped cream and caramel) sit forgotten in the cup holders, and Elena lets Damon squeeze her hand too tight as they fishtail back on to the thruway. This time, they're heading home.

Damon's POV:

Fuck. Goddamn it. _Fuck_. Katherine.

His mind is stuck in a loop, repeating the words over and over, and he doesn't realize he's actually been saying them out loud until Elena's free hand touches his arm softly.

"Baby…" she whispers, "we don't know it's…her."

"Who the hell else would it be, Elena?" Damon spits out through clenched teeth, not meaning to be harsh with her, but he just _can't help it, _because Jesus-fucking-Christ the first woman he thought he loved, the evil soulless bitch who ruined his pathetic life – she's in his home town. In the boarding house. Touching stuff and looking at the same things he looks at, breathing air that is located near the same air that he breathes on a daily basis. She's probably hunting. In _his _favorite places! "How dare she," he hisses, mostly to himself.

"Damon, please," Elena begs, touching his hair, tugging on his jacket collar, trying to get him to glance at her, but he just stares straight at the road ahead of him, his fingernails near the breaking point from digging so hard into the wheel. "Be rational for a second. Katherine _died_ in that tomb. I killed her – you saw it happen –"

"Yeah," Damon snorts derisively. "You supposedly 'died' too, didn't you? And yet…" Wildly, he gestures in her general direction with the wave of one distracted hand.

"Yes, but –"

"But _what_?"

"_But_, it doesn't work like that. Katherine can't come back, because she doesn't have what I have," Elena says gently, softly stroking his wire-taut jaw.

"And what, pray tell, is _that_?"

"Someone to live for. I couldn't die, Damon, because I hadn't had a chance to love you yet."

Her words, the earnestness, it makes him want to cry, but he holds it back, swallowing hard and tightening his eyes to keep from showing emotion. "Yeah, well, maybe the bitch feels like she hasn't had the chance to fuck me up enough," he scowls, sarcastic, reverting to that bitter shell that he'd been just days before, before Elena got through to him. "Don't people come back from the dead for shit like that, too? Cruelty seems like a better motivation than _love_, anyway."

"Damon," Elena murmurs, and the hurt in her voice makes his breath catch low in his lungs. "Don't be like that."

"Don't be like _what_?" He snarls. "Don't be myself? I'm a vampire. A pissed off _vampire_. What do you expect me to do? I want to burn things, I want to rip someone's throat out, I want to deny anything I've ever felt for you, Elena, because that is _who I am_. That is my natural fucking response to anger. Get the fuck over it."

Her hand, trembling, drops from where she'd been squeezing his shoulder. He suddenly lets go of her other hand, releasing the cold fingers that he had almost crushed like glass in his anger.

"You don't have to be like this," she whispers.

"Yes, I do."

"No," she chokes, stuttering over the simple syllable, and he looks over at her briefly – she's curled up in the passenger seat, face red and tear-streaked, her small shoulders shaking with something that sounds worryingly like sobs. A moment, and all the anger floods out of him, leaving him empty, shell-shocked, vaguely dizzy. He feels like he's coming down off some powerful drug, and his limbs go suddenly weak.

His face is ashen in the rearview mirror as he veers into the exit for a rest stop. Once he's parking in an abandoned corner of the empty lot behind a dilapidated rest center, he takes a chance to look at Elena again.

She's still crying silently, her face buried in her arms, legs drawn up on the seat and clutched to her shaking chest. The car comes to a complete stop, and he cuts the engine. Elena looks up hesitantly from her arms with raw red eyes and running mascara.

"I scared you," Damon says, making it not-a-question, looking down and away from her gaze, shamefaced. Elena doesn't appear to have the energy or the heart to lie; she nods her head very carefully, looking at him like he's some sort of dangerous animal. "I don't want you to be afraid," he says with all the tenderness he can muster, trying to bring himself back to the human level that sees something other than anger, tries to control the part of him that doesn't know how to love Elena. "I won't hurt you."

She shakes her head. "I know you wouldn't. I was scared because I don't want to lose you."

Leaning in a little closer, cautiously reaching for her hand, running the pad of his thumb across the back of her knuckles, he says – "I'm right here."

"You know what I mean. I don't want you to go back to how things were. I want you to stay like this, stay human, stay _feeling_, for me." She looks up at him nervously from under wet eyelashes, so very vulnerable that it makes him want to hold her. "I know I'm selfish and I know it's so much to ask, but I love you so much and I want to keep you, and if you'll let me, I know I can make you want to stay –"

He kisses her. Vampire speed, she's in his arms, he's reclining the passenger seat and they're crawling in the back – "You're not selfish," he murmurs, pressing her back against the inside of the car door, his mouth on her neck, "And what you're asking for is what I want most in the world to give you. I'm trying, Elena, I'm trying so hard. Forgive me for slipping sometimes – remember that I want to stay with you, be with you, feel everything between us – _so damn badly_."

It's getting desperate, now. There's a neediness in the way he's kissing her, a reckless disregard for anything but the present making him forget to let her breathe – she's gasping against his lips, pulling on his hair, one leg hitching up around his waist, hot and hard and _God, _he never wants to let go. He's scared, he's confused, he's trying so hard to be what she needs him to be, what _he _needs himself to be. He's head-over-heels crazy about the idea of them, together, but his stomach is doing terrified somersaults because he doesn't know how this will end. He's – he's – unbuttoning her shirt.

"I love you," she gasps out, breath catching, her chest heaving as he pushes the thin silky fabric of her blouse off her shoulders, rougher than he should be, probably bruising her arms, but if she minds, she certainly isn't about to say so. The tears on her face haven't dried yet, and he feels a stinging in his own eyes as he looks down at her, thinking – _I can't mess this up._

"Damn it, I love you too," he chokes, almost sobbing all of the sudden, wondering if it's unhealthy that this is only several days since their first time making love and they're already crying before they're naked again. But he doesn't care; because if this dysfunction is how they get on, then he wants it, he wants it all. She can have his blood, his sweat, his tears, his heart; he'd hand over anything, do anything –

Elena captures his lips and pulls him down with her, settling back on the seat cushions with him in between her spread legs. For extra leg room, he slides off his boots and toes the door handle behind him, pushing the car door open a foot to clear up some space. Elena starts, looking over his shoulder to make sure they're alone. "No one here," he pants, wondering vaguely if an audience would have stopped them anyways.

Probably not, because Elena doesn't waste a second tearing his shirt up over his head.

Her tights wadded up in the front seat, followed by the pencil skirt he'd bought for her at a mall off the thru-way. His jeans end up on the asphalt outside the car, along with her black high heels and his Eddie Bauer socks.

He's throbbing, hard and slick and hot in his Calvin Klein boxers, moaning as Elena thrusts her hips up – he can feel the warm wetness of her through the fabric. But there's _too much_ between them, he needs skin-on-skin, he needs hard and fast and take-no-prisoners. Up until now, he's been gentle and slow with her, but in this second, it's too much. His chest is full to bursting and he needs to use his body to express what he can't find the words to say.

"I need –" he groans, spreading her legs further and planting her feet on the seat, knees bent, tearing off her thong in one fluid moment, "I _need _to fuck you," he says. "Please."

"God yes," Elena moans, unhooking the front clasp of her bra, her perfect breasts heaving as she breathes, nipples hard and rose-pink, _gorgeous_, and various things run through his mind – he wants to remember how she looks right now, he wants to promise to never leave her, and (most overwhelmingly) he needs to be inside of her. This minute.

Roughly, he jerks his boxers down over his feet, settling in between Elena's spread legs, needing her so very much, his cock hard in his hand as he rubs the leaking head over her swollen clit, slow-slow-slow, the pace such a contrast against their hurried undressing that Elena cries out in frustration – "Don't you _dare _tease me right now!" Taking matters into her own hands, she bucks her hips, and before Damon can adjust, the head of his dick slips inside her.

Hot, _so fucking hot, _and with just that small part of him inside, he can't hold back the rest – he pushes himself in her dripping pussy in one fast thrust, both of them moaning, her crying out his name, clawing at his hair as he sets an almost inhuman pace. Minutes pass, and a blush flushes over every inch of her creamy white skin, maybe it's hours, days – he loses track of the seconds. Time is measured only by the beat of her heart paced to his, the sound of their ragged breathing, his cock pulling almost all the way out, then thrusting back in, so easy and slick and wet and – and –

A coil in his stomach tightens another notch, and he reaches down between them, his fingers wet, circling her clit, pressing with the edge of his thumb nail, making her writhe against him, thrusting hard into his fingers, her leg around his waist pulling him in. He's crying, still, and to cover for it, he kisses her, eyes closed, feeling perfectly every inch of her lined up with every inch of him, his tongue tracing the inside of her teeth, and he can't tell where she starts and he ends, they're one person, a singular being, and he can't breathe, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't…

Elena switches their positions, and suddenly she's riding him, knees folded up on either side of his waist. He's watching her run her fingers through her own hair, and he can't help sitting up, holding her, pulling her nipple in between his teeth until she's begging him for more – a request he's more than willing to comply to. Pumping up into her with reckless abandon, he's rough, maybe a little _too _rough, but he can't just _make love _at a time like this. Everything – anger at Katherine, fear of somehow losing Elena through his own stupidity, the painful war between man and vampire inside his veins – he pours it all into this. Into her. Making her his, his tears wet on her cheeks when they kiss.

"I'm – sorry," he pants suddenly, not sure what inspired the words, only knowing that they're true. She manages to focus her heavy eyes on him, silently asking him – _why the hell are you apologizing right now _– and he just raises his eyebrows, pretending like it's obvious, the muscles in his back going contract-relax-contract-relax over and over again, pushing further into her, aiming to distract.

It works – sort of – Elena moans loudly and arches her back against him, her chest hot and damp against his, but then she manages, with some difficulty, to gather her mind enough to get out a coherent sentence. "What – why – Damon, just – shut up – this –once."

"No," he says, determined, straining his neck in the attempt to speak clearly, because Elena's trying to distract him, now, running her hand through his hair, kissing his shoulder, "no, really – I… I'm sorry for – being an ass. All I want…is you. Okay? Just – remember that whenever I act –"

"I understand," she says, hushing him with a kiss, eyes sparkly blue and deep and _the only thing he can see_, because she's so close, so close – he reaches in between them and circles her clit, hard – and before she can say another word, he makes her come, crying out her release and clenching hard around him.

A millisecond later, his world explodes.

Heaven and hell and light at the end of the goddamn tunnel, because no one else has ever made him feel like this, no one ever could. He understands, he _gets it_, a moment of clarity overwhelms him and he crushes Elena to him, burying his face in her neck as his hips jerk erratically. He's so…human. Bent irrevocably to her will, wrapped around the finger of this tiny _girl_ – and he loves it. He realizes, for that second just after he comes, that this is everything. And that he'd fight to the death to keep himself from hurting her ever again.

For a long time, he's drifting.

When Damon becomes aware of his surroundings again, he's lying on his back, Elena nestled on his chest, both of their heartbeats slowing to the same rhythm. He smells her hair, the intoxicating scent of her perfume.

"Damon Salvatore," Elena says suddenly, looking at him, her arms folded over his chest, head cocked to the side.

"Yes, Elena Gilbert?"

"Don't ever leave me, okay?"

Damon just laughs, rolling her up in his arms, kissing her forehead softly, loving her so completely that he can barely manage to breathe. "You would have to drive a stake through my heart to get rid of me." A moment passes, during which Elena smiles into his skin. Then – "Elena?"

"Yes, Damon?"

"Don't ever die, okay?"

He expects her to stiffen up, pull away, tell him softly that she won't make that promise, that she won't _change _for him, that he isn't worth the sacrifice of her humanity. Tell him – rightly – that he's being selfish, as him what he thinks gives him the right to even ask that of her when he knows full well that she wouldn't do it, even for Stefan –

"I might be open to the idea," she says, so quietly he has to strain to hear.

For the first time in his life, Damon Salvatore is completely speechless.

A/N: So…hmm…what do we think of this? This is my first time posting any lemon-ish anything, so I'm sort of blushing/hiding behind my computer chair. O.o Let me know what you think!


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